
rISS 



n 



1 1(111 



^o 




rill diislx niihhcdv 



I'he 


F; 


armer's 

by 


Boy 




Clift 


on Johnson 






With 


Ilhistrations 






by 


the Author 





New York 
THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO. 

Publishers 



LIBHARY of CONGRESS 
Two Coolw Received 

SEP 16 \90r 

-„ Cooynrht Bntry 
•^ /? /'TO/ 
CLASS A uc, No. 

COPY a. 



COPYRIOHT, 19C7, 
BY THOMAS Y. CROWELL .V CO. 



PUIILISHEU, SeITEMBER, I907. 



INTRODUCTORY NOTE 

I SUPPOSE there is a good deal of fun in being 
a boy anywhere; but I shall always firmly believe 
that the best place in the world to enjoy life in 
one's youth is in the New England country. Probably 
all the northeastern portion of the I'nited States has 
much the same charm. However, I know in my own 
experience what it is to be a New England boy, and if 
I were to live the old days over I would not want to 
risk venturing the least bit across the line into other 
parts lest I should miss some evanescent delight or 
other — I can hardly tell what — which I imagine New 
England has all to itself. 

This volume shows the farm boy as I used to know 
him — at work and at play, in all seasons, and under 
such varied conditions as come into the average boy's 
experience. Such an experience is of course not all 
gayety. There are ups and downs ; but even so the 
fact is scarcely to be regretted. We would not appre- 
ciate the sunshine if we never had clouds ; and in 
looking back the hardships are often seen to have 
been fairies in dis<ruise. 



iv Introductory Note 

The boy is the book's chief topic ; yet it will be 
found that the rest of the family, and, in particular, 
the girls, receive some share of attention, both in 
pictures and in text. My hope is that these pages 
will rouse in such readers as have had the happiness to 
enjoy similar experiences many pleasant recollections, 
and that to others the book will furnish entertainment, 
even if there is some regret that they did not have the 
fortune to be New England boys on a farm. 

CLIFTON JOHNSON. 
Hadley, Massachusetts. 



CONTENTS 



I 



III 

SL'.MMKK 

IV 
Autumn 

V 
Country Children in C^eneral 



PAGK 



Winter 

I 



II 

Spring 



o 



65 



109 



140 



ILLUSTRATIONS 



The dusty roadway ..... 

Digging a dooryard path 
The .morning scrlb at the sink 
Nf.ighhors meet on a frosty .morning . 
Crumi'.s for the bird .... 

Doorstep pets 

Friendly help in pulling off his boots 
Sliding by the riverside .... 
Boyhood treasures ..... 
Homemade snowshoes .... 

Coasting 

Bringing in wood 

A CHIP.MUNK UP A tree .... 

At work WITH Till-; cross-cut saw . 

A SPRINGTIME POND ..... 
On THE FE.NCE OVER THE BROOK 

co.mfort by the fire .... 

Boiling down sap in the yard 

At the ROADSIDE W.VTCHING A TEAM GO BY 

a drink from the spout .... 
Catching flood-wood .... 



Frontispiece 

PAGE 

5 
7 
8 



opposite 




opposite 



opposit 



lo 

12 

•3 
i6 . 

'9 

20 
21 

=3 

27 



/ 



5- 
34 
36 

3« 
40 

44 



Vlll 



Illustrations 



Watching for logs . 

Ginger cookies .... 

Rubbing down Old Billy . 

Willow whistles 

The hunter .... 

On the way to pasture . 

The opening of the fishing season 

Pasture innocents 

Carpet beating .... 

Spring chickens .... 

The barefooted children 

In the barn .... 

In swimming .... 

Waiting for the dinner horn 

Going somewhere 

Companions 

Weeding onions .... 
Working out his "stent"' 
They wet their "pants" . 
A faithful follower 
Some fun in a boat . 

I'|S)1I\G 

Some fun in the shop 

Confidences 

Over the pastl kic ihlls to thi: chi 
Barn work 



opposite 



opposite 



opposit, 



opposite 
STNUT treks 



45 
46 

49 
51 

53 
54 
57 

59 
61 

63 
66 
69 
70 
72 
74 
77 
78 
So 
82 
S3 
«4 
86 
89 
90 
92 
94 



Illustrations 



IX 



Fourth of July . 

Setting off a fikecrack.i;k 

The grindstone . 

Two who have been a-borrowi? 

On the hay tedder . 

The boy rakes after 

DiscussiNc; THE colt . 

Green apple medicine 

a mud turtle 

Picking blackberries 

Potato-bugging . 

a voyage on a log . 

A corner of the sheep YARD 

Shooting with a •• sling " . 

Meditations by a streamside 

At the barn door 

Watching work at the sawmill 

Leap-frog .... 

Out with the steers 

Apple juice .... 

The crowd at cattle-show 

Paring apples 

Bringing in a pumpkin 

The boy helps husk . 

Afloat 

Out for a tramp 



opposite 



opposite 



opposite 



PAGE 

96 

97 

99 
100 

lOI 

102 
104 
107 
no 

I 12 

i'3 
"5 
117 
118 
118 
120 
121 
123 
124 
124 
126 
128 
•3° 
•3' 
133 
'37 



Illustrations 



Late to supper 

a little housekeeper 

a game of croquet .... 

a chat with grandpa 

Studying his Sunday-school lesson 

Weeding the posy bed 

Afternoon on the front porch 

Kitchen work 

Encouraging the Thanksgiving turkey 

Going up for a slide 

A sled ride for the little sister . 

The experts 

Getting ready for skating 
A Christmas puzzle .... 
Christmas morning .... 
A picture book 



opposite 



opposite 
opposit, 



PAGE 

138 
140 
141 

143 
144 
146 
148 
151 
153 
154 
155 
157 
158 
160 
162 
164 



The Farmer's Boy 



WINTER 

THE varied boyhood experiences which I relate in 
these pages are not of the present century; yet 
they are sutHicicntly recent so that the doings, 
thoughts, and feelings of many youngsters now are almost 
exactly the same. In this Ijack look I propose to l)egin with 
New Year's morning. Tlie farm boy was still sleeping 
soundly when he heard the voice of liis father calling from 
the foot of the stairs, " Come, Frank — time to get up ! " 
You may perhaps imagine that the boy leaped lightly 
from his bed, and that he was soon clattering merrily 
down the stairs to the tune of his own whistle. But the 
real, liw boy who would fit so romantic and prelt}' an 
impression is a rarity and alwa\s has been. 

Frank was so unheroic as to barely grunt out a response 
which should gi\-e his father to understand that he had 
heard him, and llun he turned o\er and -lumbered again. 
It was six o'clock. The first gray hints of the coming day 
had l)egun to ])eni'trale the lillle chamber. Tlie boy's 

I 



2 The Farmer's Boy 

clothing lay in a heap on the floor just where he had jumped 
out of it the night before in his haste to escape from the 
frosty atmosphere to the shelter of his bed. In one corner 
of the room was a decrepit chair, whose cane-seat bottom 
had some time ago increased its original leakiness to such 
a degree that it had been judged unsuited to the pretensions 
of the sitting-room, and had been banished to the chambers. 
An old trunk with a cloth cover thrown over it, and a 
stand, above which hung a small cracked mirror, were the 
other most striking articles of furnishing. 

The walls of the room were not papered, and where the 
bed stood the bedposts had bruised the plaster so that 
enough had fallen away to give a glimpse of the lath be- 
hind. Several ])ictures were pinned up here and there, 
and there was a large framed, legal-looking certificate 
which affirmed that the boy's father, by the payment of 
thirty dollars, had been made a life member of the Home 
Missionary Society. 

The boy was rather proud of the fact which tliis cer- 
tificate commemorated ; for though liis undersiauchng of 
the document was (|uite \ague, he felt sure that lo bilong 
to the Home Missionary Society was something very com- 
mendable and religious. He often read the certificate and 
decijjhered the names of the distinguished officers of the 
S0ciet\- who had put tlieir signatures a1 ihc boUom; and 
he liked to look at the Bible scene pittured at tlie top. 



Winter ^ 

Moreover, he took i)Ic'asure in the elaborate frame, whieh 
consisted chiefly of little hemlock cones set in ^^hw. He 
was tempted to the belief that he was blessed abo\e most 
boys in having a father who was honored by being a life 
member of the Home :\rissionary Society, and who j)os- 
sessed such a certificate in such a frame. His logic even 
carried him so far that he complaisantly concluded his 
folks were pretty sure of going to hea\en in the end —at 
any rate, their chances were much better than those of 
most of the neighbors. He was fully convinced that his 
father and mother were more religious than the average. 
Indeed, he was (juite religious himself when he happened 
to think of it. 

About as soon as he could lisp, his mother had taught 
him a prayer to say when he went to bed. She used, too, 
in those days, to sit beside his crib, after she had tucked 
him in, that she might hear him rei^eat the prayer and 
prompt him if he faltered. 71ie first time he ever tried to 
say it alone was on an occasion when the babv was not 
feeling well and needed all the mother's attention. So he 
volunteered to go to bed alone. Off he trotted into the bed- 
room. His mother began to sing softly to the baby, but the 
bedroom door was open, and she heard him climb into 
his crib. Pretty soon he was sa\ing his j)rayer — 

" Now I lay me clown to sleep, 
I pray ihe Lord my sou! to keep" — 



4 The Farmer's Boy 

Then there was a long pause, after which he went on 
with these words: "Well, God, I've forgot the rest, but 
it's all right." 

He was not in an especially religious frame of mind 
on the New Year's morning I have mentioned, nor was he 
thinking about the Home Missionary certificate. Get- 
ting-up time came while it was still too dark to make out 
much besides the dim shapes of the articles about the room. 
Even the gayly colored soap advertisement he had hung 
next to the missionary certificate was dull and shapeless, 
and the garments depending from the long row of nails 
in the wall at the foot of the bed could not be told apart. 

The morning was very cold. The window-panes were 
rimed with frost, so tliat scarcely a sjjot of clear glass 
remained untouched, and there was a cloudy jniff of 
vapor from among the pillows with the boy's every out- 
going breath. 

Tlie boy's fallier, after lie had pr()])erly warned his 
son of the ap])roach of day, made the kitchen fire and went 
out to the barn to feed the liorses and t'ows. When he 
returned to the house, he ai)])eared to be astonished that 
Frank had not come down, though one would think he 
might ha\'e grown used to the b()\'s earl\ morning sluggisli- 
ncss; for lie liad to combat it ahuost e\ery daw He 
stalkefl to thi' door at the fool of tiie back stairs and said, 
in tones wiiose sternness seemed to ])ro|)hes\' dire tilings 



Winter 5 

if not met with prompt obedience: "Frank! don't you 
hear me? I called you a (luarter of an hour ago. I 
want you to get up right off !" 

"Comin'," Frank mumbled, and he rubbed his eyes 
and tried to muster resolution to get out into the 
cold. 




Digging a dooryard path 



6 The Farmer's Boy 

"Well, it's full time that you was I" commented his 
father; "and you better be spry about it, too." 

When you repose on a feather bed, it lets you down into 
its yielding mass, so that if you have enough clothes on 
top, you can sleep in tropical contentment. There is 
no chance for the frost to get in at any of the corners. 
Frank felt that his happiness would be complete were he 
allowed to doze on half the morning in his snug nest, but 
he knew it was hopeless aspiring to such bliss, and a few 
minutes later he appeared downstairs. His hair was 
tumbled topsy-turvy, his eyes had still a sleepy droop, 
and he was in his shirt-sleeves and stocking-feet. He had 
no fondness for freezing in his room any longer than was 
necessary after he was once out of bed, and he always 
left such garments as he could sjjare downstairs by the 
stove. Of course, he had not washed. That he would 
do just before breakfast, at the kitchen sink, after the out- 
door work was done. 

The hulf-dresscd bo}', as soon as he reached the lower 
floor, hastened to make friends with the sitting-room 
stove, where a f'lrc, witli the aid of "cliunks," liad been 
kept all night. A light was burning in the kitclien. and 
his mother was mo\ing about there, thawing things out 
and getting breakfast. The boy hugged the slow as closely 
as the nature of it would allow, and turnt-d himself this 
wa}- and that to let the heal penetrati' thoroughl}- all 



Wintei 



around. Then he ])Ul on tlic heavy pair of shoes he had 

left the night before in a comfortable place back of tlie 

stove, donned his 

vest and coat, 

pulled a cap down 

over his ears, and 

shuffled off to the 

barn. 

Frank had been 

one of the work- 
ers whom it had 
seemed necessary 
to stir out the first 
thing in the morn- 
ing for years back. 
On the whole, the 
fact that he not 
only had work but 
plenty of it was 
a good thing for 
him. It made all 
his other experiences sweet. If leisure and \Aay had 
filled his days, his pleasure, after all, would ha\e been 
jjale. 

Frank did not gruml)le al his lot or think it a hard one, 
nor would he had it been ten times worse. Children who 




The morning scrub at the sink 



8 



The Farmer's Boy 



were not spoiled by petting and lack of employment 
usually accepted things as they found them, and made the 
best of them. Even the farm debt, which might burden 
the elders very heavily and keep all the household on the 
borders of shabbiness for vears, made but a sliirht and 




A'eiglibors lucct oil a jrosty monini'^ 

occasional impression on the }oungsters. Then there were 
those accidents that are continually ha])])ening on a farm 
— the collaj)se of a wagon, the sickness of the best cow, 
the death of the old horse, the gi\ing out of the kitchen 
stove so that a new one was absohitrl}- nciessar}-. To 
the mature members of the i)Oorer families these things 
were almost heart-breaking. It was possible the chil- 



Winter 9 

drcn might shed a few tears over them ; but work, and the 
httle pleasures they so readily discovered under the most 
untoward conditions, soon made the sun shine again, and 
the mists of trouble melted into forgetfulness. 

Boys on small farms which had only two or three cows 
did not milk regularly. This job was done by the father 
or a grown-ui) brother; but at night if the older workers 
were away from home or too busy with other tasks, the 
boy was called on. Perhajjs the father had to go so many 
miles over the hills to market that he would not get home 
until well on in the evening. In that case, you found the 
bo}' at niglufall ])oking about the gloomy barn with a lan- 
tern, and doing all tlie odd jobs tliat needed to be done 
before he could milk. When other tasks were fmished, 
the little fellow got the big tin pail at the house, hung his 
lantern on a nail in the stable, and sat down beside one 
of the cows. He started the milk streams playing a pleas- 
ant tune on the resonant bottom of the jjail, and from 
time to time snuggled his head uj) against the cow for 
the sake of the warmth. If the cow gave a ])ailful, his 
knees began to ache and shake with the weight of the 
milk before he had done, and his fingers grew cramped 
and stiff with their long-continued action. However, the 
boy always persevered to the end ; and if, when he took 
the milk in, his mother said he had got more than his ]ia 
did, he grew an inch taller in conscious ])ride of his merits. 



10 The Farmer's Boy 

There was a difference in cows. Some required a good 
deal more muscle than others to bring the milk ; and some 
were skittish. One of these uneasy cows would keep 
whacking the boy on the ear with her tail every minute 
or two all through the milking, and at the same time the 
coarse and not overclean tuft of hair on the end would go 
stinging along his cheek. Then, too, the cow would be 
continually stepping away from him sidewise, and he had 
to keep edging after her with his stool. These unex- 
pected and uncalled-for dodges made the streams of milk 
go astray, and he got his overalls and boots well splashed 
as one of the results. Another was that he lost his temper 
and dealt the cow a fierce rap with his fist. That made 
matters worse instead of better. The cow seemed to have 
no notion of what the lad w^as chastising her for, and be- 
came Hveher than ever. It sometimes happened in the 
end, that the cow gave the boy a sudden ])oke with a hind 
foot that sent him sprawling — ])ail, stool, and all. 

When a boy got into trouble, he always felt that the best 
thing he could do was to hunt u]) his mother. That 
was what our boy who met disaster in tlu' cow stable did. 
He left his lantern behind, but he carried in the ])ail wiih 
the (lri])l)le of milk and foam ihal was still \vi\ in llu' bot- 
tom. 

His mother was cutting a loaf of l)read on the su])])er 
table. " .\re you through so soon?" she asked. ''Why, 




Crumbs jor I he bird 



Winter 



II 



Frank, what's the trouble?" she continued, noticing his 
woe-begone face. 
"The cow kicked me!" repHed Frank. 
His mother got excited, and stepped over to examine 
him. " Well, I should say so ! " she exclaimed. " You're 
completely plastered from head to foot. Spilt all the milk, 
too, didn't you? Well, well, what's the matter with the 
old cow?" 

"I do' know," replied Frank, tearfully. "She just up 
and kicked me right over." 

"Well, never mind," said his mother, soothinglv. "You 
needn't try to milk her any more to-night. You better 
tie her legs together next time. She's real hateful, that 
cow is. I've seen the way she'll hook around the other 
cows lots of times. Here, you run into the bedroom, and 
I'll get your Sunday clothes for you to change into. Wait 
a minute till I lay down a newspaper for you to jnit your 
old duds on." 

A little later Frank went out to the barn and brought 
in the lantern. Then he sat down to sujjper, and by the 
time he had eaten ten mouthfuls of bread and milk he 
felt entirely comforted and blissful after his late trials. 

The boy's usual work at night was to let the cows in 
from the barnyard where they had been standing, to get 
down hay and cut up stalks for them, water and feed tlie 
horses, bring in wood, not forgetting kindlings for the 



12 



The Farmer's Boy 




Doorstep pets 

kitchen stove and chunks to kv^v the siltin-rooni fire 
over night, and, kist Inil not U'ast, lu' had to <lo all the 
odd heli)ing his father hapiuiud lo call on him lor. 
The bov enjoyed most of ihi>, more or less, but his real 



Winter 



13 



happiness came wlien work was done, and he could wash 
up and sit down to his su]jj)er. The consciousness that 
he had finished ihc day's kdx)r, the comfort of tlic 
indoor warmth, the i<.een ajjpetite he had won — all com- 
bined to give such a complaisancy, both ])hysical and men- 
tal, as might move many a grown-up and pampered son 
of fortune to envy. 

The boy usuall}' s]X'nt his e\'enings very quietly. He 
studied his lessons at the kitchen table, or he drew up 




Friendly help in pulling ojj his boots 

close to tile fitting room lire and read a stor\ 1 taper. There 
was not so much literature in the averatre famiiv but that 



14 The Farmer's Boy 

the boy would go through this paper from beginning to 
end, advertisements and all, and he looked at the ])ictures 
half a dozen times over. In the end, the paper was laid 
away in a closet upstairs, and when he happened on 
dull times and didn't know what else to do with himself, 
he wandered uj) there and delved in this ])ile of papers. 
He found such an experience })articularh- }jleasant, for 
it stirred up the echoes of past enjoyment by a renewed 
acquaintance with the stories and pictures he had found 
interesting long before. 

Evenings were varied with family talks, and some-times 
the boy induced his grandfather to repeat some old rhymes, 
tell a story, or sing a song. When there were several 
children in the family, things often became (|uite li\ely 
after supi)er. The older children were called on to amuse 
the younger ones, and they had some high times. There 
was lots of fun and noise, and squalling, too, and some 
energetic remarks and actions on the ])art of tlie elders, 
calculated to ])Ut a sudden sto]) to certain of the most 
enter] )rising and reckless of the ])roceedings. 

The baby was a continual subject of solicitude. His 
tottering steps gave him many a fall, even on a le\el, yet 
he aspired to climb e\-er\tliing climbal)le; and if he did 
not tumble down two or three times getting up, lie was 
jjrettv sure to exi)erience a disastrous descent after the ac- 
complishment of liis ambilion. He made astonishing ex])e- 



Winter 15 

ditions on his hands and knees, and it seemed as if he was 
liable to be stumbled over and annihilated almost any- 
where. The parents realized these things, and is it any 
wonder, when the rest of the tlock got to flying around the 
room full tilt, that they were alarmed for the baby, and 
that their voices became raspy and forceful? 

Blindman's buff and tag and general skirmishing were 
not altogether suited to the little room where, besides the 
chairs and lounge and organ, there was a hot stove and 
a table with a lamp on it. 

A ])erson needed some practice to get much satisfaction 
from a conversation carried on amid the hubbub. You 
had to shout every word; and if the children ha]:)pened 
to have a special fondness for you, they did most of their 
tumbling right around your chair. 

Some of the children's best times came when the father 
and mother threw off all other cares and thoughts, and 
were for the time being the little folks' companions in 
the evening enjoyment. What roaring fun the small 
peoj)le had when their father i)layed wheelbarrow with 
them. With what keen delight they watched his motions 
while he puzzled them with some of the sleight-of-hand 
tricks he learned when he was young; and how ha])])v thev 
were when mamma became a much -entertained listener 
while the oldest boy sj)oke a piece, and rolK-d his voice, and 
kept his arms wa\'ing in gestures from beginning to end I 



l6 The Farmer's Boy 

The other children were quite overpowered by the larger 
boy's eloquence. Even the baby sat in cj^uiet on the floor, 
and let his mouth drop open in astonishment. 

The mother was apt to be more in sympathy with these 
goings-on than the father, and it was on such occasions as 
he happened to be absent that they had most of this sort 
of celebration. At such a time, too, the children waxed 
confidential, and told what calling they intended to adopt 
when they grew up. This one would be a storekeeper, 
this one a minister, this one a doctor, this one a singer. 
They all intended to be rich and famous, and to do fine 
things for their mother some day. They did not pick 
out anv of the callings for love of gain jjrimarily, but be- 
cause they thought they would enjoy the life. Indeed, 
when Tommy said he was going to be a minister, the rea- 
son he gave for this desire was that he wanted to ring the 
bell every Sunday. 

Bedtime came on a progressive scale, gauged by ihr age 
of the individual. First the baby was tucked away in 
his crib. Then the three-year-old went through a linger- 
ing ])rocess of preparation, and after a little run in his 
nightgown about the room, he was stowed away in crib 
number two, and his mother sang him a lullab\ . These 
two occupied the same sleeping-room as the jmrents, 
and il adjoined the sitting-room. The door to it had 
been o])en all the e\ening, and it was comfortably warm. 



Winrer \n 

Girls and boys of eight or ten years old would take their 
o\A-n lamps and manh olT by themselves at an earlv hour 
to the cold chambers. Some of the upper rooms had 
a stovepipe running through, which served to blunt the 
edge of the cold a trille, or there might be a register 
or hole in the floor to allow the heat to come up from 
below; but, as a rule, the chambers were shivery places 
in winter, and when the youngsters crept in between the 
icy sheets, their teeth were set chattering, and it was some 
minutes before the delightful warmth which followed 
gained ascendency. 

The boy who sat uj) as late as his elders was usually 
well started in his teens. Children were not inclined to 
complain of early hours unless something uncommon 
was going on. I1iey were tired enough by bedtime. 
Even the older members of the family were physically 
weary with the day's work, and the evening talk was apt 
to be lagging and drowsy in its tone. The father would 
get to ya\\Tiing over his reading, and the mother to nodding 
over her sewing. Many times the chiefs of the house- 
hold would themselves start bedward soon after eight; 
and the growing boy usually disregarded the i)rivilege of 
late hours and took himself off at whatever time after 
supper his tiredness began to get overi)owering. 

It Avould be difficult to say surely that the bov's room 
I described early in this chapter was an a\erage one. The 



l8 The Farmer's Boy 

boy was not coddled with the best room in the house. 
In certain dwellings the upper story had but two or three 
rooms that were entirely finished. The rest was open 
space roughly tloored, and with no ceiling but the rafters 
and boards of the roof; and some boys had their beds in 
such (juarters, or in a little half-garret room in the L. 
These unfinished spaces were the less agreeable if the 
roof happened to be leaky. Sounds of dripping water or 
sifting snow within one's room are not pleasant. On the 
other hand, there were ])lenty of boys who had rooms 
with striped paper on the walls, and ])Ossibly a rag carpet 
under foot, not to s])eak of other things ecjually ornate. 
Jn the matter of knickknacks, most boys did not fill 
their rooms to any extent with them. The girls were more 
apt to do that. But a boy was pretty sure to have at least 
a few treasures in his room. He was not \ery j)articular 
where he stowe'd them, and he was like!}- to have some 
severe trials about liouse-tleaning time. His mollier 
failed to appreciate the \alue of his s])ecial belongings^ 
and was not in sym])alli\' with liis method of placing them. 
She had a good deal to do tlurefore with their getting 
disarranged and thrown awa}'. if fortuni' fa\"ore(l the 
bov with an old bureau, hv was fairlv safe; but things 
Ik' ]ui1 on the >hi'lf and >tan<l, and i'S])eciall\' those he 
])ul right along in a row under the head of tlu' ])v(\ -oh, 
where were the\? 



Winter 



19 

1 




Hiiyhood truiMins 

The winter breakfast was o\er about sunrise. All the 
rolh'ng hills near and far lay pure and white beneath the 
dome of blue, and they sparkled with many a frosty dia- 
mond. I doubt if the boy eared very mueh about this. 
He was no stickler for beauty. Questions of comfort and 
a good time were uppermost in his mind. Nature's 
shifting forms and colors alTected him but mildly as a 
mattcrof beauty or sentiment, and the phase that ])resented 
itself uppermost was a ])hysical one. If the sun shone on 
the snow, the thing that imj)ressed the boy was that the 
glare bHn<k'd his eyes. .\ gray day was the dismal fore- 
runner of a storm. Sunsets, unless particularly gaud}', 



20 



The Farmer's Boy 



had no interest, except as they suggested some weather 
sign. He dch'ghted most in days that were crystal clear, 

when every object in the 
distant hills and valleys 
stood sharply distinct. 
He had small fancy for 
the mellow atmosphere 
that softened the land- 
scape with gauzy blues. 
He loved delmiteness, 
not dreams. 

The boys, in common 
with llie animals, felt a 
friskincss in their ])ones 
on the approach of a 
storm. They would run 
and shout then for the 
mere pleasure of it ; and 
])la\', of whatever sort, 
recei\c(l an added zest. 
It might be tlie dead of 
winter, but that (\'u\ not 
kee]) ihem indoors. if 
the wind blew a gale and whistled and rattk'd about tlie 
home Ijuiklings and matk- the trees creak, so much the 
better. Nor woukl tlie onset of the storm itself drive 




J/diiiinidilc siKru's/Kir; 



Winter 



21 



the youngsters indoors. The whirling llakcs might in- 
crease in number till they blurred all ihv landstapi', and 
went seetliing in shifting windrows owr e\er\- hillock; 
yet it would be some time before the children would 
pause in their sliding, skating, or running to think of the 
indoor lire. 

When they did go in, it was as if all the outside 




Coasting 



22 The Farmer's Boy 

breezes had gained sudden entrance ; for the small folks 
came tumbling through the door with a bang and a rush, 
and there was a scattering of clinging snow when they 
pulled off their wraps and threw them into con\enient 
chairs or corners. They declared they were almost frozen 
as they stamped their feet about the kitchen fire, and hugged 
their elbows to their bodies and rubbed their fingers over 
the stove's iron top. 

"Well, why didn't you come in before, then?" asked 
their mother. 

"Oh, we was playing," they answered. "We been 
having a lots of fun. The snow is drifted up the road so 
it's over our shoes now." 

" Vou better take off your shoes, if you've got any snow 
in 'em," the mother said. " I declare, how you have slo})ped 
the floor ! And you've made the room cold as a barn. 
Here, Frank, don't aou go into the sittin' room till you 
get kind o' dried off and decent." 

"I just wanted to get the cat," said Frank. 

"Well, \()u can't go in on the car])et willi such lookin' 
shoes, cat or no cat!" was his mother's response. 

Meanwhile she had takt'n her broom and brushed out 
on the ])iaz/a some of the snow lumps and puddles of 
water the children had scattered. 

Thv slo\es were an imporlant ilem in ihe lx)v's 
winter life. Jt was a mailer of i)eri)elual aslonishnient 



Winter 



23 



to him how much wood thi-y burned. He had to 
bring all the wood in, and he found this as much of a 
drudgery as his sister did the everlasting washing and 
■wiping of dishes. It was his duty to fill the woodboxes 




Bringing in wood 

about nightfall each day. The woodshed was half dark, 
and the day had lost every particle of glow and warmth. 
He could rarely get up his resolution to the ]:)oint of filling 
the woodboxes "chuck full." He put in what he thought 
■svould "do," and lived in hope he would not be disturbed 
in other ])hin> b\- ha\ing lo replenish the slock before the 
regidation lime the night foUowing. Sometimes he tried 



24 The Farmer's Boy 

to avoid the responsibihty of a doubtfully filled woodbox 
by referring the case to his mother. 

"Is that enough, mamma?" he said. 

"Have you filled it?" she asked. 

"It's pretty full," rephed the boy. 

"Well, perhaps that'll do," responded his mother, sym- 
pathetically, and the boy became at once conscience free 
and cheerful. 

All through the day, when the boy was in the home neigh- 
borhood, he was continually resorting to the stoves to get 
w^arm. Every time he came in he made a few passes 
over the stove with his hands, and he must be crowded 
for time if he could not take a turn or two before the fire 
to give the heat a chance at all sides. If he had still more 
leisure, he secured an apple from the cellar or a cooky 
from the pantry, and ate it while he warmed up ; or he 
went into the sitting-room and sat by the stove there, and 
read a little in the paper. One curious thing he early 
found out was, that he got cold much ([uickcr whvn he 
was working than wlu-n he was ])laying; but he quite 
failed to see that this was because he went at his tasks 
with less energy, and that because he had less interest in 
them his fancy exaggerated the discomforts. 

Probably the majority of New England boys spent 
most of the winter in school; though in tlie hill lowns, 
where roads went- bad and houses much scattered, the 



Winter 



25 



smaller schools were closed. W'liik' he attended school, 
the l3oy had not mucli lime for anything except the home 
chores ; but on Saturdays, and in vacation, he might now 
and then go into the woods with the men. There was 
no small excitement in clinging to the sled as it pitched 
along through the rough wood roads amid a clanking 
of chains and the shouts of the driver. The men, who 
were familiar with the work, seemed to have no hesitation 
in driving anywhere and over all sorts of obstacles. The 
boy did not know whether he was most exhilarated or 
frightened, but he had no thought of showing a lack of 
courage, and he hung on, and when he reached the end of 
the journey, thought he had been having some great fun. 

The bo\- had brought his own small axe, and was all 
eagerness to j)rove his \irtues as a woodsman. He whacked 
away energetically at some of the young growths, and when 
he brought to the ground a sapling three inches through, 
he was triumphant, and wanted all the other cho])pers 
to look and see what he had done. He found himself 
getting into quite a sweat over his work, and he had to 
roll up his earlaps and take his overcoat off and hang it 
on a stump. Then he dug into the work again. 

In time the labor became monotonous to him, and he 
was moved to tramp through the snow and investigate 
the work of the others. His father was making a clean, 
wide gash in the side of a great hemlock. M\cr\ ])Iow 



26 The Farmer's Boy 

was effective, and seemed to go just where he wanted it 
to. The boy wondered why, when he himself cut off a 
tree, he made his cut so jagged. He stood a long time 
watching his father's chips fly, and then gained a safe 
distance to see the tree tremble and totter as the oppo- 
site cut deepened, and neared its heart. What a mighty 
crash the tree made when it fell I How the snow flew, 
and the branches snapped ! The boy was awed for the 
moment, then was fired with enthusiasm, and rushed in 
with his small axe to help trim off the branches. After 
a time there came a willingness that his father should 
linish the operation, and he wandered off to see how the 
other workers were getting on. 

By and by he stirred u]) the neighborhood with shouts 
to the effect that he liad found some tracks. His n>ind 
immediately became chaotic witli ideas of hunting and 
trapping. Now that he had begun to notice, he discovered 
frequent other tracks, and some, he was prettv sure, were 
those of foxes and some of rabbits and some of s(|uirrels. 
Why, the woods were just full of game I - he would 
bring out his box trap tomorrow, and tlie cerlaintv grew 
on him ihat he wouhl-not onl\- catih some creatures ihat 
would j)ro\e a pleasant addition lo the famil\- larder, but 
he would also have numerous skins nailed u]) on tlie side 
of thi- barn that would bring him a nice little sum of 
pocket monev. 



Winter 



27 



That evening he brought out the box Iraj) and got it 
into working order, and made all the younger children 
wild with excitement over his story of the tracks he had 
seen, and his ])lans for tra])|)ing. They each wanted a 



__ 4(Rr V 'A "i' \ 




A chipmunk tip a tree 

share, and were greatl\' disa])i)oinled the next day when 
their father would not lei ihcm all go to the woods. 
The boy set his trap, and mo\ed it e\er\- few days 



28 The Farmer's Boy 

to what he thought would prove a more favorable place, 
bui he had no luck to boast of. Yet he caught something 
three times. The first time he had the trap set in an 
evergreen thicket in a little space almost bare of snow. 
He was pleased enough, one day, to find the trap sprung, 
and at once became all eagerness to know what he had 
inside. He pulled out the spindle at the back and looked 
in, but the tiny hole did not let in light enough. \'ery 
cautiously he lifted the lid a trifle. Still nothing was to 
be seen, and he feared the trap had sprung itself. When 
he ventured to raise the lid a bit more, a little, slim-legged 
field-mouse leaped out. The boy clapped the lid down 
hard, but he was too late. The mouse ho]3pcd awa}', and 
in a flash had disappeared into a hole at the foot of a 
small tree. The boy was disappointed to have even such 
a creature escape him. 

The next time, whatever it was he caught gnawed a 
hole through the corner of the Ijox, and had gone about 
its business when tlie box- made his morning visit to the 
trap. Then he took the trap home and lined the inside 
with tin. 

He had no luck for some days after, and finall}- forgot 
the trajj altogellier. It was not till spring that lie ha])]iene<l 
on it again. .\ tingle of the old excitiMiK'nl siined in his 
veins whi-n he saw that the tra]) was s])rung. He raised 
the lid with all the caution l)()m of exi)erienc'e, but the red 








.1/ 'uvrk Willi the cross-cut saw 



Winter 29 

squinvl wliich was wiihin had l)rcn lonu; dead; and when 
tlu- 1)<)V thouglu of its slow dralh hy starvation in that (hirk 
])o.\, he feh tliat hv nvwv would want to trap an_\- more. 

Thr l)o\' found the woods nuuh inorr enjoyable than 
the woodjiile when it wa> deposited in the home yard. 
He knew that so lonu; as there was a stiek of it left he 
would never have a moment of leisure that would not run 
the risk of beinii; interrupted with a suggestion that he 
go out and shake the saw awhile. The hardest woods, 
that made the hottest fires, were the ones the saw bit into 
most slowh- and were the most discouraging. The best 
the bov could do was to hunt out such soft wood as the 
])ile contained, and all the small sticks. He attained 
some ^•arietv in his labor by ])iling u]) the sawed sticks 
in a bulwark to keep the wind off, only it has to be acknowl- 
edged that he never really succeeded in accomplishing this 
purpose. But the unsawcd pile grew gradually smaller, 
and his folks were not so se\ere that they expected the boy 
to do a man's work or to keej) at it as steadih' as a person 
of mature years. He stopped now and then to ])la\- with 
the smaller children, and to go to the house to see what 
time it was, or to gel something to eat. Besides, his father 
worked with him a good deal, and if there were times 
when the minutes went slowly, the days, as a whole, slipped 
along (juickly, and, before the boy was aware, winter was 
at an end if the woodjjile wasn't. 



II 

SPRING 

WITH the coming of ^Nlarch comes spring, ac- 
cording to the almanac, but in New Eng- 
land the snow-storms and wintry gales hold 
sway often to the edge of April. Yet some quite vigor- 
ous thaws generally occur before the end of the month. 
There are occasional days of such warmth and quiet lliat 
you can fairly hear the snow melt, and the air is full of 
the tinkle of running brooks. You catch the sound of 
a woodpecker tapping in the orchard, and about that time 
the small boy would tumble into the house, jubilant over 
the fad that he had seen a bluel)inl Hilling llirough tlie 
branches of the elm before the house. All the children 
made haste to run forlh into ihe yard to see the sight. Even 
the mother llirew a shawl over her head and slcp])cd out 
on the pia/za. 

"Yessir! ihere he is!" said Frank^'s }(ningcr l)r()lliers, 
'J'omnn- and Johnny, excitedly. ''That's a blucl)ir(l, sure 
l)op!" 

Puddles had gathered in the soggy snow along the road- 
side, and the liltie stream in llie meadow had overflowed 

:!0 



Sjiring 



31 



its banks. Wlirn thr hoy ])(.M\c'i\(.'(l ihis, lie hrcamc 
imnu-diak'ly anxious to grl into his ruhhcT hoots and <fo 
wadini^. His mothiT had a douhiful opinion of these 




wadings, hut it was sucli a maltrr of Hfr and death to the 
boy that she- ha;l not ihr heart to iv:'u>c him, and con- 
le-nlc'd herself with admonitions not to stav out loo long, 
not to wade in too dee]), not to get his ilothes wet, etc., 
etc. 

The boy began with one of the small jjuddle^, t'or he 
had these cautions in his mind, hut llie scope of his en- 
terpri.se continually enlarged, and he |)resentlv was Irving 
to determine just how deej) a phut.' he could \enture into 
without letting the water em loat h oMr hi> boot-top^. He 



32 



The Farmer's Boy 



did not desist from the experiment until he feh a cold 
trickle douTi one of his legs, from wliich sensation he con- 
cluded that he got in just a little too far that time, and he 
beat a hasty retreat. But he had made his mind easy on 
the point as to how deep he could go, and now turned his 
attention to poking about with a stick he had picked up. 
He was C[uite charmed with the way he could make the 
water and slush spatter with tliat stick. When he grew 
tired of this performance, and the accumulating wet began 




On Ihr joirr over llic brook 

to pcnctrali' hi> clotliiug Iuti' and ilu'i"i', W- adjounu'd 
to the meadow and set his slit k saih'ng down the >iream. 
]l liiled his heart with di'lighl to set.' liow it |iiuhed 
and \\hii"led. and he slumped along the hrook l)orders and 



Spring 33 

shouted al it as lie kr])l il c-oni])an\-. Later he returned 
to the roadway and made hah' a (U)zen (hims or more to 
stop the tiny rills that were coursing down its furrows. 
He did this with >ueh serious tlioughtfulness and with 
such frequent, studious j)auscs as would well fit the actions 
ot the world's great philoso])hers. 

Xo doubt the boy was making diseoxeries and learn- 
ing lessons; for the farm, with \aried Xalure always so 
close, is an excellent kindergarten, and the farm children 
are all the time improving their opportunities after some 
fashion. 

When the boy went indoors, his mollu'r showed symp- 
toms of alarm o\er his condition. Ifc thought he had 
ke])t ])retty dry, InU his mother wanted to know what on 
earth he had been doing to gel so wet. 

"Ain't Ix'en doin' nothin'," responded Tommy. 

"Well, I should >ay so I" remarked his mother. " Here, 
you let me sit you in this chair to kind o' drean, while i 
pull off llicm sopi)in" miltens." 

She wrung the mittens out at the sink and hung them 
on the line back of the stoye. Next she pulled off the 
boy's boots, and stood him uj) while she remo\e(l his owr- 
coat, and lastly jnished him, chair and all, up by the lire, 
wheri' iu' i ould |»ut his \cv\ on the sto\e hearth. Tommy 
did not see the necessity :or all this fuss. He felt dry 
enough, and all right; yet, so long as his motlur did not 



34 



The Farmer's Boy 



get disturbed to the chastising point, he found a good 
deal of comfort in having her attend to him in this way. 




Com] art by the fire 

It was on one of the still, sunshiny March days that il 
occurred to the oldest boy of the household the majile 
saj) mu>l have begun to run. He did not waste much 
time in making tracks for ihe shop, where he hunted u]) 
some old s])Outs and an auger. He intended U) tap two 
or three of tile trees near the house, anyway. There was 
no lack of helpi^rs. .Ml the smaller t hildren wert' on luind 
to watt h and ad\i>e hiiu, and to fet( h pan> from the house 



Spnnj; 35 

and pro]) ihcm up under tlu- spouts. Idii-y watclu'd raj^a-rly 
for the ai)pc"arani(.- of ihu first droj)s, and whi-n thcv sighted 
tluni facli cxtlainx'd : "Tlu'ri.' it is I 'Vhv sa]) runs I" 
and ihcy wanted ilicir olck-r hroilicr to slo]) his boring at 
the next tree and eonie and look. 

Bui Frank feU that he was too old to >h()w enthusiasm 
about such things, and he sim])ly told theni that he guessed 
he had "seen sap 'fore now." 

The chiklren took turns a])pl\ing llieir moutli> to the 
end of spout number one to catch the llrst (Irojjs thai 
trickled down it. In days following thev were fre(|uent 
visitors to these taj^ped trees, with ihe avowed purpose of 
seeing how the sap was running; but it was to be noticed 
that al the same time they seemed always to lind it con- 
venient to lake a drink from a ])an. 

In the more hilly regions of \ew Kngland most of ih.e 
farms have a sugar orchard on them, and the tree-tapjiing 
that began about the house was soon transferred to the 
woods. The boy went along, too - indeed, what work 
was there about a farm that hv (\u\ noi hiiw a hand in, 
either of his own will or because he liad to ? Bui the jjhase 
of sugar making I wi>li to sj)eak of now particularly is 
that found on the farms which possessed no ma])le 
orchard. The boy saw that the trees about tlu' house 
were attended to, as a matter of course, and he guanU-d 
the pans and warned off the neighb()r>' bovs wh.en he 



36 



The Farmer's Boy 



thought they were making too free with the pans' con- 
tents. Each morning he went out with a pail, gathered 
the sap, and set it boihng in a kettle on the stove. In 
time came the final triumph, when, some morning, the 
family left the molasses pot in the cupboard, and they had 
maple syrup on their griddle-cakes. 




Hoilin^ (lini'ii sap in the yard 
It was not e\X'rv bov whose enkT])i-isc' sl()p])i.(l wiili the 
tai)i)ing of ihc liomc yard shade trees. On iiiaii\- farms 



Sprino; 37 

an occasional maple <^rew in tiic fields, anrl sometimes 
there were a few in a patch of near woodland, in such 
a case the boy cut a lot of elder stalks while it was still 
winter, cleaned out tlie pith, and sliaped them into spouts. 
At the tirst approach of mild weather he tapi)ed tlie scat- 
tered trees, and in order to catcli the sap. distributed among 
them every receptacle the house alTorded that (Vul not leak, 
or whose leaks could be soldered or beeswaxed. After 
that, while the season lasted, he and his brother swung 
a hea\y tin can on a staff between them and made period- 
ical tours sap-collecting. These fre(|uent tramps through 
mud and snow in all kinds of weather soon became mo- 
notonously wearisome, and the boys were not sorrv when 
the sap flow ended. 

With the going of the snow came a mud si)ell that lasted 
fully a month. To dri\e anywhere with a team took 
forever. It was drag, drag, drag, and sloj), sloj), slo]) all 
the way. Even the home dooryard was little better than 
a bog, and the boy could ne\er seem to step out an\where 
without coming in loaded with mud —at least, so his 
mother said. She had continually to be warning him to 
keep out of the sitting-room, and at times seemed to be 
thrown into as much consternation o\er some of his fool- 
])rints that she found on the kitclien lloor as was Robinson 
Crusoe over the discovery of that lone footprint in the sand. 
Just as soon as she heard the boy's shullle on the j)ia/za 



^8 



The Farmer's Boy 




M.m^m 






1 ■' 




.1/ ///( ydiuLidc ii.\il( liiii^^; ii laiiii ^i;i) by 

and caught si<^hl of him entcrinuj tlie kitchen door, slie 
said, "There, 1*' rank, don't }ou come in till you'\e wiped 
your feet." 

"I ha\'e \vi])ed 'em," said I'" rank. 

"\\'li_\-, jusi look at liiose boots of \()ur>!" his mother 



Spring 



39 



rcsponfk'd. "T should tliink xou'd ^ot aljoiU all tlu' mud 
lluTf was in the _\-ard on \'m.'" 

"1 n(.'\rr saw >uch st iik\- old stuff,'' declared I'Vank. 
"\'oui" l)i"oom'> ni(»t woi"e out alreadw" 

"Well."" i"e-niai"ke'd his mother, "what are you ,i^ettin' 
into the mud lor all o\er that way, e\er_\- lime you stcj) 
out? Pa's laid down l)oard> all around the }ard to walk 
on. \\'h\' don't vou ,1^0 on them?" 

"They ain't laid where I want to go," Frank re])lied. 

*'.\n\'wa\','" was hi> mother's final rema)"k, "1 can't 
ha\'e m\- kitthen lloor mussed up b}' you Irackin' in e\ery 
fnc minutes." 

l>ut the n'all\- >e\'ere experiences in this line came 
when the barnyard was cleaned out. For se\eral da}s 
the bo}"> shoes wei'e "a si,L!;ht," and his journeyings were 
accomj)anied witli such an odor that his mother warned 
him olT entirt'l}- from her domain. He was not allowed 
to walk in and get that ])ii'ce of pie for his lunch, but had 
it handed out to him tlirough the narrowly o])ened kitchen 
door. W'hi'n nK'altime arri\ed, he was commanded to 
lea\'e his boots and o\eralls in tlu' woodshed, and he came 
into tJie house in his stocking-feet. F\en then his mother 
made derogatory remarks, though he told her he "couldn't 
smell an\thing." 

.\fler the snow wt'Ut, it was astonishing how (piicklv 
the green would clothe the fields. Nature, with its bui->ting 



40 The Farmer's Boy 

buds and abounding blossoms, was teeming with hfe again. 
I think the sentiment of the boy was touched by this 
season more than by any other. The unfolding of all 
this new life was full of mysterious charm. It was a 
delight to tread the velvety turf, to find the first flowers, 
to catch the oft-repeated sweetness of a phoebe's song, 
or the more forceful trilling of a robin at sundown. Spring 
appealed to the boy most strongly at nightfall. He could 
still feel the heat of the sun when it lingered at the horizon, 
and in tlie gentle warmth of its rays enjoyed a run about 
the yard, and clapped his hands at the little clouds of 
midges that were sporting in the air. As soon as the sun 
disapi)earcd, the cool damp of evening was at once apparent, 
and from the swam])y hollows came many strange pipings 
and croakings. The boy wondered vaguely about all 
the creatures that made these noises, and imitated their 
voices from the home la\Mi. When the dusk began to 
deepen into darkness, he was glad to get indoors to the 
light and warmth of tht' kitchen. 

To tell the truth, our boy was rather afraid of the dark. 
Just what he feared was l)Ut dimly delined, though bears, 
thieves, and Indians were among thi' fearsome shades that 
peopled tlie night glooms, it <lid not take much of a noise, 
when he was out alone in tlie dark, to set his heart thump- 
ing, and lii> imagination i)ictured (bvadful i)ossibilities in 
the shapes and movements that greeted his eyesight. 



Spriiiij; 41 

The onlv place ihat roused liis anxiety in the daytime 
was tlie eow stable. A hole in the lloor opened down into 
the bam cellar, and thi~. ia\it\- was always j^dooniy and 
mysterious, and >tirred the ho}'s fears every lime he had 
to clean out the stables. So he used to call the dog and 
send him under the barn to dri\e the s])Ooks away, and 
then would work like a bea\er to get the stables cleaned 
before the dog grew sick of his job and came out. 

A little burving-ground on a hill near his home also 
troubled him a good deal; for he knew that s])ooks liked 
to haunt )ust such places. While it was broad daxlighl 
he was all right, but when dusk came and he had to ])ass 
the lemeterv, he walked fast and stepped lightly. He was 
too scared to run; for it seemed to him if he did run, he 
would have a whole pack of ghosts right on his heels. 
However, when he got old enough to go to see the girls, 
his fears suddenK- left him, and he could come home i)ast 
the bur\-ing ground in the small hours of the morning 
without a tremor. 

While he was a little fellow, his fear of the dark e\en 
assailed him when he was in the house. He had a notion 
there might be a lurking sa\agt' in the ])anlr}', or the cellar, 
or in the dusk\' corners of the hallways, or, worst of all, 
imder his bed. Those fears were most \i\id after he 
had been reading some tale of desperate adwnlure or of 
mystery, dark doings, and e\il characters. \'ery good 



42 The Farmer's Boy 

books and papers often had in them the elements that 
produced such scarey effects. These were the sources 
of his timidity; for dime-novel trash, although not alto- 
gether absent, was not common in the country. The 
boy did not usually acquire much of his fear from the 
talk of his fellows, and his parents certainly did not foster 
such feelings. It was undouljtedly his reading, mainly. 

He rarely felt fear if he had company, or if he was where 
it was light, or after he got into bed — that is, unless there 
were strange noises. What made these noises he heard 
sometimes in the night ? He certainly never heard such 
noises in the daytime. The boy did not fear rats. He 
knew tliem. Thev could race througli llie walls and grit 
their teeth on llie |)lastering, and tlirow all those l:)ricks 
and things, wliatewr they were, down inside llie liollow 
sj:)aces tliat lliey wanted to. iUit it was llii' creakings 
and crackings and softer noises, that lie couldn't tell what 
they were, which troubled him. The very best thai lie 
could do was to pull the covers up ()\er his head and 
shi\er into slee]) again. lUil if the boy had fi-iglits, ihey 
were inlermillent U)V the mo^l ])arl and soon foi-gollen. 

With liie ihawing of the snow on ihe h\\\> and the early 
rains there came, each spring, a limi' ot llood on all tin- 
brooks and ri\ers. No one a])])reciated this mori' than 
the bov who was so forlunalt' as to haw a home on the 
banks of a good-sized stream. W'aler, in whate\er shajie, 



Spring 43 

possessed a magical delight for him, if we excej)l that for 
washing purj)Oses. it did not matter wiu'thcr it was a 
dirtv puddle or a sparkling rivulet or the spirting jet at 
the highway watering-trough - they all enticed him to 
j)addle and splash. He even saw a touch of the beauti- 
ful and sul)linu' in some of the water etTects. There 
was a charm to him in the jjlacid pond that mirrored 
every object along its banks, or, on l)risker days, in the 
choppy waves that broke the surface and curled up on 
the muddy shore. He liked to follow the course of a 
brook, and took pleasure in noting tlie clearness of its 
waters and in watching its cr^'stal leaps. When spi"ing 
changed the (piiet streams into mudd_\' torrents, and 
thev became foaming and wild and unfamiliar, the boy 
found the sight imj)ressivc and exhilarating. 

But it was on the larger rivers that the floods had most 
meaning. The water set back in all the hollows, and broad- 
ened into wide lakes on the meadows, and co\ered portions 
of the main road. The boy cut a notch in a >li( k and 
stU( k in his mark at the water's edge that he might keep 
posted as to how fast the r'wvv was rising. He got the 
spike pole and fished out the flood wood that floated within 
reach. If he was old enough to manage a boat, he rowed 
out into the stream and hitched on to an occasional log 
or large stick that was sailing along on the swift current. 
For this purpose, if he was alone, he had fastened at the 



44 



The Farmer's Boy 



back end of the boat an iron hook that he pounded into 
the log. It was hard, jerky work towing a log to shore, 
and he did not always succeed in landing liis capture. 
Sometimes the hook would keep pulling out; sometimes 
the thing he hitched on to was too bulky or clumsy, and, 
after a long, hard pull, panting and exhausted, he found 




himself gelling so far downstiTam llial 1k' rchnlaully 
knocked out the hook, rowfd in>h()ir,;ui(b ic]>t in the idch'es 
along the bank bat k to his slariing pkicc. Tlu-rc was 



SDiintr 



45 



just one trouble about this catcliinj^f llood-wood -— it 
increased the woodjjile niaterialh', and made a lot of work, 
sawin,!^ and cho])])in^, that the boy had )illle fanev for. 




W'litcliiiii^ jor loi^s 

DurinL^f llie early s])rinif there was sometimes a long- 
continuefl spell of dry weather, in the woods the trees 
were still bare, and the sunlijj;lil liad free access to the leaf- 
carpeted earlli. At such a lime, if a fire t^ot started among 
the shri\el]ed and tinder like leaves, it was no easy task to 
put it out. Whole neighborhoods sallied forth to light 
it, and several days and nights might ])a>s l)ef()ie it was 
under control. The boN' was among the first on the s|)()l, 
and with his hoe inunt-diatcK' be^an a xiirorous scralchini: 



46 The Farmer's Boy 

to clear a path in the leaves that the fire Avoukl not Ijurn 
across. The company scattered, and sometimes the boy 
found himself alone. Close in front, extending away in 
both directions, was the ragged fire-line leaping and crac- 
kling. The woods were still, the sun shone bright, and 
there was a sense of mystery and danger in the presence 
of those sullen, devouring flames. Now came a putT of 
wind that caused the fire to make a sudden dash forward 
and that shrouded the boy with smoke. He ran back to 
a point of safety and listened to the far-off shouts of the 
men. The fire was across the path he had hoed, and he 
clambered up the hill to find company. 

When night came the boy wandered off home, to do 
his work and eat supi)er. If he could get permission, he 
was out again with his lioe in the evening. The scene 
was then more than e\er full of a wild charm. From 
the sombreness of tlic unburned tracts he looked into the 
hot, wavering line of daz/ling llames and on into regions 
where lingered many sparkling eml)ers wliicli the lire had 
not vet burned out. Xow and ihtn tlinv was a pik' ol 
wood that was a great mass of glowing coals; or he saw 
the high stum]) of some dead tree burning like a torch 
in tile 1)lackness. 'Vhv l)()y thought \hv mm (\n\ nww 
talking and advising tlian work. \lc (h'd not acn)iupli-li 
much him>L-h". Thr men kt])l togrthi'r, and lu' hung about 
tile half Hghted groups, h>trn((l to what was said, and 




(Jiugcr cookies 



wiih ihr oi1ht> did some (K'>ult()ry scratc'liin,^ lo kvv\) the 
fin- from ^;ainin,L,^ ni'w ground at ihc ]ioini ilu'y were <^uard- 
iiiLi;. \>y and 1)\' a man rame hallooim,^ his \\a\- through 
the woods to them, hrini^M'nu; a milk can lull of coffee. 
Every worker, old and younsj;. took a drink, and the\- all 
cracked jokes and exchanged opinions with the bearer 
till he started off to I'md the next ,L!;rou]). Some of the 
men stayed on <fuar<i all nit^ht, but the bo}- and his father, 
about ten o'clock, left the crac kU' and dartint^f of the llames 
behind them, and l)etook themsthes to a gloomy wood- 
road that led toward home. Tlu're had been nothing 
very alarming in the day's ad\entures, but the boy 
would ne\er forget the experience. 

Fire was fascinating lo the bo\' in an\ form. He bui'ned 
hi> hngers at the stow dam])er wlien hv was a babw He 
liked to look at the glow of a lamji; and a candle, with its 
soft llicker and halo, was especially' pleasing. Then those 
new matches his folks had got, that went off with a snap 
and burst at once into a sudden blaze ^ he had ne\er seen 
anything liki' them I The}' reminded him of the delights 
of I'"()urth of July. 

.\ chief event of tin- spring was a bonfire in the garden. 
There was an accumulation of di'ad \iiu> and old ])ea- 
brush and apj)le-tree trimmings that often made a large 
Ilea]). 'I"he lire was enjo\ab!e at \\hale\ir time it came, 
but it \\a> at it> best if thev touched it off in the evenini:. 



^8 The Farmer's Boy 

The whole family then gathered to see it, and Frank 
fixed up a seat for his mother and the baby out of a board 
and some blocks, and invited some of the neighbors' boys 
to be on hand. He put an armful of leaves under a corner 
of the pile and set it on fire with some of those new matches. 
The neighbors' boys gathered around and told him how 
the lighting ought to be done, and even offered to do it 
themselves. When the blaze fairly started and began to 
trickle up through the twigs above it, the smaller children 
jumped for joy and clapped their hands, and ran to get 
handfuls of leaves and scattered rubbish to throw on. 
Frank poked the pile this way and that with his pitchfork, 
and the neighbors' boys lighted the ends of long sticks 
and waved them about in the air. Fven the baby cooed 
with delight. 

The father liad a rake and did most of the work that 
was really necessary, while the boys furnished all the 
action and noise essential to make the occasion a suc- 
cess. When the blaze was at its highest and the heat 
penetrated far back, the company became i|uiet, and they 
stood ab;)ut exchanging occasional words and simply 
watching \hv llames lick u]) the bru>h and Hash iii)war(l 
and disappi'ar amid the smoke and sparks that rose high 
toward the dark deeps of the sky. The frolic was resumed 
when the i)ile of brush began to fall inward, and presently 
the mother said she and the baby and the smaller children 



Sprin^T 



49 



must <;() [o ihr house Tlir (liildri'ii proli'Slcd, but i1k-v 
had to ii;o, nevcrlht'lcss. Xol Iohl,^ afterward the rmbcrs of 
thi- Tire wcri' all raked toifi'thrr. and I'Vank and the ncii'h- 




Rubbiuf:, doioi Old Hilly 

b()r>" b()y> tooled around a liltk- lons^n'r. and ijot about a 
half (lo/e-n Imal warminj,' u])S and liun tramped oil" home- 
ward in \vhi>tlinii; haii|iiiU'SS. 

On llu- da\ follow inj^', llu-^'arden was j)lou,Ljhc'd and bar- 



^o The Farmer's Boy 

rowed. Then the boy had to help seralch it over and 
even it off witli a rake, and was kept on the jump the rest 
of the time getting seeds and ])lanters and other tools. 

Meanwhile he indueed his father to let him have a 
corner of the garden for his own, and got the ])aternal 
advice as to what he had best raise in it to make his for- 
tune. He scratched over the plot about twice as fine as 
the rest of the garden, and would not let any of the old 
hens that were hanging around looking for worms come 
near it. He concluded that ])eas were the things to bring 
in money, but he was tempted to try three or four hills of 
potatoes between the rows after he had the peas planted. 
He saved space for a hill of watermelons, and, just to iiU 
u]) the blanks, which seemed rather large with nothing 
showing, he put in, as a matter of exi)eriment, various 
seeds here and there, from lime to lime, when it came 
handy and llu' thought occurred to liim. 1 Ir was some- 
what astonishrd at the way things came uji. ln(lee(K lie 
thought they would never grt done coming up, and they 
were ])rettv wrll mi.xi'd in lln'ir arrangemcnl. He was so 
discouraged ()\rr liie constant si)r()Uting that he hoed 
off clean the most trouljlcsonu' half of his domain and 
trans])lanted a Uw i abbages on lo it. In liis lu>i en- 
thusiasm lu' had in(ki(ed his molhrr lo conic out t'\er_\- day 
or two and look at his gardm pah h. and he rnjoycd lelHng 
iicr \u> i)hiiis; \n\\ lir Icfl that off for a whiK' whui Ids 



Snnntr 



5' 



vcgctabk'S beiann- so rrralir, and wailrd lill In- (oiilil iliin 
lluiii out and hrinij; du'ir |)ro(trding> within lii> coni- 
]irrlu'n>ion. 

It \va> in s])rinj^, more- than any otluT season, that the 
bo\''s idras buddrd with n(.'\v rnti'r])rist'S. Hv l"orii;ot 
most ol' thcni b\- the timr he had them t'airK' started, and 
nonr ot" them \wrv Hkch' to lia\t' an\' ])(_■( uniar\- \-ah:c'. 
Bill thai never damped his entluisiasm for rushing into 
new one>. The huntini^ fe\-er was ajtl to lake him prt'llv 
soon after the snow went, and lie made a bow and wliiitled 
out some arrows. Then hv was read\' to l/o lo ihe W()()d>. 





Uillir.. 



(-2 The Farmer's Boy 

Suppose we follow him along the rough roadway among 
the trees. The dav is still and warm. The leaves are 
not vet out, and the sunlight comes in freely through the 
gray tree-twigs, and glistens on the brown leaves which 
carpet the ground. The air is full of sleepy quiet; yet 
if one listens, he can hear a multitude of little noises — 
ticking sounds and light rustlings, as if buds were 
bursting, and as if all the green undergrowth of the 
woods was pushing up amid the withered last year's 

leaves. 

The little boy tramps steadily onward. He does not 
shoot at the chickadees hopping about in the twigs of a 
thicket he passes. He does not shoot at the bluebird he 
sees flitting through the green boughs of a hemlock. He 
does not shoot at Woodpecker who is earnestly hammering 
awav at a dead tree bole. He does not shoot at Chip- 
munk who chatters at him from a roadside boulder as 
he ap])roaches, and then suddenly jiops out of sight, and 
an instant later is seen scudding up a stout oak, where 
he again sets up a k)ud chattering. 

Xo, tile bov does not shoot at these, for liis mother 
ha> told him they are liis friends, and that so kmg as 
llu'y do no harm they havi- the riglit to hve and to make 
a home in the woods, or anywheri' else they choose to stay. 
What he is hunting i> bears. lie whislUs softly as he 
pl()d> along; but all at ome lu' bri'ak> off short in his 



Sp 



rintr 



53 




Till- hunter 

tunc, aiifl half stooj)ing f^ocs fijrward on tiptoe. "()h, 
oh, what a l)i,<^ fellow!" he \vhis])c'rs to himsilf. " Til 
gel this one, I'm sure. M\', liow hhu k he is!" 

The ho\- does not aj)i:)ear at all frightened. Tn fact, 
the creature he is moving toward so stealthil}- looks 
\ery much like an old stump. However, that docs not 
matter. 

The hunlir drops on one knee and fits an arrow to his 



54 The Farmer's Boy 

bow. "Gr-r-r-r!" he says in his gruffest growl. "There, 
he sees me! Quick now, right between the eyes!" 

The arrow flies. "Hurrah! hit fair and square!" the 
boy shouts. 

He runs and pulls out his arrow. "This is a big fel- 
low !" says he. " Fat, too," he adds, punching the stump 
with his arrow. "He'll weigh a million pounds, or pretty 
near it, I guess. He's larger'n the one I shot last summer 
in the Sarah Nevados. I think when I sell his hide 1 can 
buy that top and a dozen marbles I've been wanting. 
Well, I must get to skinning him. Where's my bowie- 
knife?" 

He dives into his pocket and brings up a small, one- 
bladed knife, and opening it, proceeds vigorously to 
attack the stump. The Ixirk hangs loosely, and the 
knife is more of a bother than a help. So he ])uls it 
back in his pocket and linishes the stripi)ing with his 
lingers. 

Then he starts in search of new achentures. Stumps 
are numerous, and he is wry successful. He not only 
shoots ten or fifteen bears, but se\t'ral lions and tigers. 
"I vum !" says he, after a whik', "this is hot work." 

He ])auses, puslu's his hat back, and draws his slecN'e 
across his forehead. " \'>\\\ ii wouldn't do to lii' down 
and rest," he (onlinues. "'I'lure's bears all around, and 
lions like enough u]) 'most an\ \vvv rc'ad\" to drop down 




o 



on a man if he isn't on the lookout. 1 dctiarc I 1 lei-1 
hun^L^^ry." 

He searches ab,)ut till he finds a birch twitr to chew on, 
and then looks up at the sun. " Must b.- nearly noon," 
he comments. •" Dinnrr'll bi- read\- in a little while, and 
I'd better put lor home." 

So saving, he slings his bow o\it his shoulder, and, 
enlirelv careless of the dangerous woods he is in, he goes 
skipping down the rough road that leads homeward. 
He is thinking of the dinner that awaits him, and he 
looks neither to the right hand nor to the left. But luck 
seemed to be attendant on our unwar\' hunter. Xo bear 
pounced on him, he was not gobbled up by any of the 
prowling tigers, and no lion leaped down on him from 
the tree-to]»s. Thus it ha|)])(.'ned that our hero ended 
this achx-nturous morning in safety. 

Occasionally he j)layed Indian with his bow and arrows, 
and he would j)erha])s visit the resorts of the hens and 
colled enough feathers to make a circlet to wear around 
his head, .\fter he was properly decorated, he tramped 
off to shoot such of the ferocious wild beasts as he hap- 
pened to know the names of, or he would go and seal]) 
the neighbors' boys. 

Sometimes he induced his father to saw out a wooden 
gun, and armed with ihai, he turned pioneer. Then 
savatres and wild aninlai-^ hoth had to catch il. lie would 



56 The Farmer's Boy 

skulk arouncl in the most ajjprovcfl fashion and say 
"Bang !" for his gun every time he fired, and hke enough 
he would kill half a hundred Indians and a dozen grizzly 
bears in one forenoon. He was as fearless as you please — • 
until night came. 

Not all the boy's hunting was so mild as to stop at the 
killing off of bears and Indians. Sometimes he shot his 
arrows at real, live things, or he might use pebbles 
and a sling, or he practised throwing stones ; and 
he did not resist the temptation to make the birds and 
squirrels, and ])ossibly the cats and the chickens, his 
marks. It is true he rarely hit any of them; and a sensi- 
tive boy, if he seriously hurl one of the creatures fired at, 
had a sickening twinge of remorse. Hut there were boys 
who would only glory in the straightness of tlieir aim. 
Something of the savage still lingered in their nature, and 
thev felt a sense of prowess and ])0wer in bringing down 
that whicli, in si)ite of its life and moxcmenl, did not 
escape them. It was to tliem a much grandiT and more 
enjoyable thing llian to hit a lifeless and unmoving mark. 

The bo\s al an\' rale, many of them wc-re at times, 
in a thoughtless wa\', downrighl cruc'l. How ihev would 
bang about tin- old horse on occasion 1 To drown a cat 
or wring ihe neck of a chicki'n aroused no t"()m|)unclions, 
and lhe\' would run iialf a mile lo he | indent al a liog- 
i;illini/. Tiu-\' had scarti'K- a irrain of s\'mi)alh\' for ihe 



Sjirino; 



57 



worm ihcy impalrd on tlu'ir fish hooks ; ihcy kilU-d the 
grasshopi)er who would not ^Iw ihcm "molasses"; they 
crushed the buUertly's wings in catching it with their 
straw hats; and they pulled ofT insects' limbs to see them 
wriggle, or lo find out how the insect would get along 




'1 iif opiiiiiii^ 0/ llir jisliiiii; scdsoii 

without them. 1 will not extend ihv h()rril)le list, and I 
am not sure hut that most boys were guiltless of the 
majority of these charges. Howe\er, they were much loo 
apt to play the part of destroyers. This spirit was shown 
in the way the boy would whip off die heads of llowers 
along his i)alh, if he had a >lit k in hi> hand. It was shown 



58 The Farmer's Boy 

also in the manner he gathered them when gathering 
happened to be his purpose. Their bright colors were 
then the chief attraction. If he secured the blossoms, that 
was enough. He would pick ten thousand blossoms and 
not have a green leaf among them. Nor did he think of 
their life or of their beauty where they stood, or of the 
future. He picked them in wholly needless quantities, 
snapping off their heads, pulling them up by the roots — 
anv way to get the greatest number in the shortest pos- 
sible time. If the boy had been as thorough as he was 
ruthless, you could never tlnd more flowers of the same 
sort on that spot. This does not argue a total disregard 
for the flowers, but it is a ])ity to lo\e a thing to destruc- 
tion. 

The llrst token of spring in llu- flower line that the boy 
brought into the house was apt to be a sprig of pussy- 
willow. The fuzzy catkins were to liis mind ^•er\• odd 
and interesting and pretty. The ground was stiH snow- 
covered, and they had started witli tlie lirst real thaw. 
Before the pastures got their flrst green, the boy went off 
to And the new arl)utus l)U(ls, that smelled sweetest of 
all the flowers he knt-w, unless it might be the azalea, that 
came later. Already, by the brook, were the ([ueer 
skunk-cablxige blossoms, and the boy sometimes pulK'd 
one [o i)ieces, and vwn snilTi-d ilu' odor, just lo learn how 
bad it real!}' was. He ])erlia|i> found a stout, short- 



Sprinj 



59 



stemmed dandelion thus early open in some warm, grassy 
hollow, and a few days later the anemone's dainty cui)s were 
out in lull and were trembling on their sknder stems witli 
every breath of air. In jja^ture bogs and along the 
brooks were violets — mostly blue; but in i)laces grew 
yellow and white ones, ready to delight their finder. 
The higher and drier slopes of the pastures were some- 
times almost blue in spots with the coarse bird-foot violets, 
while the lower grazing ground was as white with the mul- 
titudes of innocents as if there had been a light snowfall. 




I ii \i 1(1 1 nnii'i I in \ 

Occasionall} the viok-ls were utilized to "fight roosters." 
To do this, two bovs would each take a \ iolel and hook 



6o The Farmer's Boy 

them together and see wliich fellow's would pull the other's 
head olT — see which violet would stand the most strain. 

Along the roadways and fences tlie wild-cherry trees 
were clouded full of white ])etals, and in the woods were 
great dashes of white where the dogwoods had unfurled 
their blossoms. By the end of A Fay the meadows were 
like a night sky full of stars, so thick were the dandelions, 
and on the rocks of the hillsides the columbines swayed, 
full of their oddly shaped, pendulous bells. In some damp 
woodpath the boy was filled with rejoicing by the finding 
of one of the rare lady's-sli})j)ers where he had been 
gathering wakeroljin. Another spring flower that ])os- 
sessed a special interest to the bo}- was the Jack-in-the- 
Ijul]»it, but it hardl}- seemed a fiower to him, it was so 
(|ueer. 

S])ring had three days with an in(li\i(lualit_\- which made 
them stand out among the rest. Earliest of ihesi' came 
A])ril Fool's Day. The only idea the boy had about it 
was that the more things he could make the rest of the 
world belic-\e on llial (la\' which wiTe not so, tlie l)i'tter. 
Most of llu' tricks were not \'ery clever or comnK'ndable, 
and the bo\- himself fi'lt that he was sonu'tinn-s a|)i)nxiclv 
ing uncomforlabh' close to hing. 'Ihv common form of 
fooling was to get a ])erson to look at something that was 
not in ^ight. 

"See that crow out lluTe!" savs the bo\' to his fatlur. 



J 



>]->nni:; 



6i 




It" «r«-«»- » •* - ,«"i»*r 



Car pel bialini; 



"WluTc?"' asks his fatlu-r, wluii In- l()()k> out. 

"A|)ril fool I" shouts thr hoy, and his pk'asurc owr 
thf "sh'ck" way lu- fooKd iii> pa, histi'd a hah" hour or 
more- until lu' (list oNi-n-d that lu- had hern walkini^ around 
for he didn't know how lonjj; with a slip t)f ])a|it.T on his 



62 The Farmer's Boy 

back his sister had pinned there; and what he read on' 
it when he got it off was "April fool!" He did not feel 
so happy then, but he saved the paper to i)in on some one 
else. All da}' his Ijrain was full of schemes to get people 
looking at the imaginary oljjects to which he callerl tlieir 
attention, and at the same time he uas full of suspicions 
himself, and you had to be very sharp and sudden to fool 
him. When night came he rejoiced in the fact that he 
had got one or two ''fools" off on every member of the 
family, and there is no knowing what a nuisance he had 
made of liimself among the rest of his friends. It ga\'e 
him a grand good appetite, and lie was inclined to be ((uitc 
conversational. His remarks, however, assumed a milder 
tenor when he bit into a portly doughnut and found it 
made of cotton. He was afraid his mother was trying 
to fool him. He wouldn't ]ia\-e thouglil it of her! 

Soon after iliis day came I'^ast Day. School "let out," 
and lliere was meeting at the cinircli, but most folks did 
not pay much attention to lliat, and, it being a holiday, 
they ate rather more than on other (ki\s, if an\thing, and 
they joked about its being "fast" in the sense that it was 
not slow. Our Ijoy did what work hv had to do, and then 
asked tlie pri\ilege of going olT to see some other box- and 
have some fun. Howexi'r, tliat was a thing \\hi(h lia|)- 
pened on all sorts of davs. lie was alwaxs readx' willi 
lliat re([uest when he had leisure', and made it oftentimes, 



Spnnj 



63 



too, wiu'ii hv had no k-i>uri- in any one's opinion but liis 
own. 

The :;oth of Mav was Di'coration I)a\', and a ('om])any 
of sokhcTs alwa\s canic- with a hand and llai^s, to dccoralu 




«.;i.'*^" 



[hv i^ravi-s of the sokh'ers in the \ illage cemetery, and there 
was singing and other exercises, and everybody was 
present. The b(jy had his boii(|Uet, and he was on the 
spot j)romptly and c hattint^ with some of his com|)ani()ns. 
Lines of teams were hit( lied along the roadside, and two 



64 The Farmer's Boy 

or three scores of peojjle had gathered near the cemetery 
entrance. The occasion had sometliing of the solemnity 
of a funeral, and even the boys lowered their voices as 
the\' talked. The sound of a drum and fife was presently 
heard around the turn of the road, and tlie soldiers, 
under their drooi)ing llag, ajjproached and filed into the 
cemetery. A song, an address, and a i)rayer followed — all 
verv impressive to the 1)oy, out tliere under tlie skies with 
the wide, blossoming landscape about. Finally he laid his 
flowers with the others on the graves, the soldiers formed 
in line, the life piped once more, the drum beat, and off 
they went down the road. Then the people began a more 
cheerful visiting, and there was a cram])ing of wheels as 
the teams turned to go homeward. The bo\', with his 
friends, ])oked about among some of the old stones, and 
then lingered along in the rear of tlie scalteri'd grouj)S that 
were taking the road leading to the \illage. 



Ill 



SUMMF.R 



THI-> l)()v felt that sumnur had really come about 
the time he got a new straw hat and began toj^o 
l)aref()()t. Maeh year when he first trod the earth 
without shoes and stoekinti;s, he was as fri>k\- as were the 
cows when, after the winter's sojourn in the barn, they 
were let out to _u;o to pasture for the first lime. The boy 
remembered wry well how he nearly ran liis legs off on 
that occasion, for the cows wanted to career all through 
the neighborhood, and they kicked and lapered and 
gallojK'd and hoisted their tails in the air, and were as 
bad as a circus broken loose. 

The bov would ha\e gone barefoot some wei-ks before 
the time when he actually did so, onl}- he could not get 
his mother to un(kT>tan(l how warm the tarlh really was. 
It was cooler now than he expected it would be, but he 
got into a glow running, and in a few days the exposure 
toughened his feet so that he could endure ahnost any- 
thing — anything but shoes and stockings. Hi- haled lo 
put those uncomfortable things on, and. when \\v did, 
was glad to kick them olT at the earlii'st o]»|)ortunity. 

<'5 



66 



The Farmer's Boy 



Even the first frosts of autumn did not at once bring the 
shoes into use. He woukl drive the cows up the whitened 




The barcjootcd liiihlrcn 

lane, and sli]) s!ii\tTin,t^ alon.g in tlic tracks brushed lialf 
clear of frost 1)\- the lurch certain that he would be entirely 
comfortable a little later when the sun was well up. 



Suninier 67 

But the j()\- of bare feet was not altogether complete. 
About half the lime the boy went with a lim]). He had 
hurt his toe, cut his heel, or met with some like mishap. 
There were things always lying around for him to step on, 
and in the late summer certain wicked burs ripened in the 
meadow that had hooks to their ])rickles. These ])rickles 
hurt enough going in, l)ut were, oh. so much worse pulling 
out I The boy ne\er liked to walk on newly mown land 
on account of the stiff grass stubs. Yet he could manage 
pretty well by sliding his feet along and making the stub- 
ble lie flat when he stepped on it. The gains of bare feet 
certainly much more than offset tlie losses, to his mind; 
for he could tramp and wade almost everywhere and in 
all kinds of weather, with no fear of tearing his stockings, 
muddying his shoes, or "getting his feet wet." 

He a])preciated this going barefoot most, perhaps, after 
a rainstorm. The older peoj^le had no idea what fun it 
was to slide and s])atler througli the pools and puddles 
of the roadway. There was the boy's n^oiher. for in- 
stance — she failed to ha\e tlie mildest kind of ai)i)recia- 
tion of it. Sill' had e\en U-ss, if that is possible, when the 
boy came in to her after lie had astonished himself bv a 
sudden slip that seated him in the middle of one of the 
jniddles. 

Just after a storm, when the air was \ery >till. the boy 
was sometimes impressed by the a])parent de[)tli of those 



68 The Farmer's Boy 

shallow pools. They seemed to go down miles and miles, 
and he could see the clouds and sky rellected in tluir calm 
deeps. He was half inclined to keep away from tlieir 
edges, lest he should fall o\"er the \mnk and go down and 
down till he was drowned among those far-off cloud re- 
flections. 

Another roarhva}- sentiment tlie boy sometimes enter- 
tained was connected with the ridges of dirt thrown up 
by the wagon-wheels. Their shadows made ])ictures to 
him as of a great line of jagged rocks and recalled to liis 
memory the wild coast of Norway illustrated in his 
geograi)hy. He felt like an ex])lorer as he followed the 
ever changing craggedness of their outlines. 

'I mentioned lliat the 1)oy liad a new straw hat witli the 
beginning of summer, but the newness was not a])j)arenl 
two days afle'rward. it had b}- ihen lost its store as|X'ct 
and liad taken to itself an in(li\i(kial shape all its own. 
Presenllv the ribl)on began to ll}' loose on the l)reezes, 
and then llie (.oil look a l)ite out of the edge, and a general 
dissolution set in. Tlie boy used it to chase grasshoppers 
and butterflies witli, and ont' dav lie brought it home half 
full of strawberries lie had picked in a field. ( )n another 
occasion he utilized it to catch ])oll\wogs in when he was 
wading, arid lu- lia>tene(l it> ruin b\- using it as a l)all on 
summer i-\fning,s to throw in tlie air. lie thought, one 
night, he hail put it pa>t all u>efuhuss when, not thinking 



Suniiiier 



69 



where lie had phued it, lie WL-nt and sat down in the chair 
that it happ.-ned to oeciipN'. Vou would not ha\e known 
il t'oi" a hat \vhrn he picked it ii]), though he strai,i,ducncd 
il out after a fashion and concluded il would ser\e for a 
wiiile longer, anywaw l)Ui things presently got to that 
desperate pass where the brim was gone and there was a 
bristly hole in the toj). "The folks" saw the hat could 
not ])0ssiblv last the summer through, and the next time 
his father went to town he bout^ht the bov a new one. 




In the barn 



70 



The Farmer's Boy 



Of course, he told him to be more careful with this than 
with the old one, when he ga\-c it to him. 




I>i yici»!»iiiii^ 

The summer was not far advanced when tlie boy became 
anxious as to whether the water had warmed u]) enouji;h 
in the streams to make it allowal^le lo ti;o in swimminjj;. 
As for the ]\\[\v riwrs amoni^ tlie hills, \hvy nrMi" did i^v[ 
wai'ni and in llie lioiu-^l >])(.'lls of midsummer it made 



Summer 71 

the ])oy's teeth chatter to juni]) into their cold j)Ools. 
Hut there was a glowini; reaction after the plunge, and if 
he (lid not stay in too lont^, he came out (|uite eniixened by 
his bath. The bathing jjlaces on these woodland streams 
were often (juite ])icturcsque. It might be a spot where 
the stream widened into a little pond hemmed in by walls 
of green foliage, whose branches in places drooix'd far 
out over the water. It might be in a rocky gorge stre\Mi 
with boulders, where the stream filled the air with a 
continual roar and murmur as it dashed down the rapids 
and plunged from pool to pool. On the large rivers of 
the valleys the swimming places had usually muddy shores 
and a willow-screened bank, and there were logs to tloal oti 
or an old boat to push about. In fuNorable wt'ather the 
boys would go in swimming every e\ening, and they made 
the air resound for half a mile about with their shouts and 
splashings. 

June opened with lots of work in the planting line. 
The b()\' had lo drop feriili/e'r and ])otaloes some da\s 
from morning till night, by which time he was readv to 
drop him>elf. In corn planting he had in's own bag of 
tarred com and his hoe, and took the row next to his 
father's. For a sj)ell he might kec]) u]), but as tin- day 
advanced he lagged l)t,-hind, and his father ])lanled a few 
hill> ot ( a>ionallv on the bov's row to eniourage him. 

( )ne of the things a boy soon became an adej)t at was 



72 



The Farmer's Boy 



leaning on his hoc. He did this most when he was alone 
in the field and not liable to sudden interruptions in his 
meditations. .\t such times he got lonesome, and he felt 
more tired than when he had company. He wondered 
why the dinner horn didn't blow. You would not think 
a hoe an easy thing to lean on; but the boy would stand 
on one leg, with the lioc-handle hooked under his shoulder, 
for any length of time. 





-!>• 



II iitliiii!^ /(')' lln dtniur imrn 



Summer 73 

One clay, when the boy stood tluis meditating, some 
Ijig ants erawled up his leg inside of his overalls. This 
was a ease of the ant going to the sluggard. The ininu'di- 
ale result was not industry on the part of tlu' l)o\-. At 
least, lie did not go to hoeing, hut ran and iuin])fd into 
the ri\er. H\- so <loing he was able to eombine ])leasure 
with the necessity of getting rid of the ants. 

The corn was no sooner in the ground than the crows 
began to haj)])en around to in\estigate. Thev would pull 
it even after it had grown an inch or two high and sna]) olT 
the kernel at the roots, and it seemed sometimes as if 
they rather liked the llaxor of the tar put on to destroy 
their a])])elite. The boy's indignation waxed high, and 
he wished he had a gun or a pistol, or something, "to I'lx 
those old crows." His mother did not like hrearms. 
She was afraid he would shoot himstlf; but she gave 
him some old clothes, and hi- went off to the sho|) to con- 
trive a scarecrow and stuff it with ]ia\-. W'lu'n his fatlu'r 
ajjpeared and jjretended to be frightened bv the scare- 
crow's terrible figure, the boy was (\u\{v elated. After 
su])i)er he and his mother and the smalU'r children went 
out in tile field and si1 the man up, and tlu- bo\- shook 
hands with him and held a little conversation with the 
dummv figure. Ili> small br()lher>an(l >isters wc-re sure the 
crows wouldn't "dast" to come around tlu'ix' anv more, 
and thev were kind of afraid of ihe >tai\'i row tlu'msi'hes. 



74 



The Farmer's Boy 



The days waxed hotter and hotter as the season advanced, 
and the boy presently got down to the simplest elements 
in the clothing line. Indeed, if his folks did not insist 
on something more elaborate, he went about entirely 
content in a shirt and a pair of o\cralls. 




Going soinnv'ncrc 

His hair was aj)l lo grow rallicr long l)t'l\\XTn llic cut- 
tings his mother gu\c it. He would not liaw' had it cut 
at all, if >1h- had not in>islc-(l, for Ik- did not enjoy the 
process. \'er\- likel_\' he was comfortably reading a ])aper 
when she disturbed his serenity by saying, "Conn', l''i-ank, 
now I'll tend to \()ur head." 



Summer 75 

At the same time slie <^ot a comb and shears and ])Ut on 
her si)eetaeles. "Don't want m\- hair cut," said Frank, 
"It's all rit^ht. You're cutlin' it 'most every week." 

"I ain't cut it for two months," his mollier declared; 
"so come here." 

Frank reluctantly settled into the chair his mother had 
placed for him, and she took off her a])ron and pinned it 
bottom upward around his neck. "Stoj) jjokin' your 
fingers through that liole," says she, "and lean your head 
forward a little." 

She started cli])ping. " Ow I" exclaimed Frank, sud- 
denly crouching away from liis barljer. 

"What are you twitching like that for?" she asked 
somewhat irritably. 

"You pull." was F" rank's reply. 

"Well, Fm just as careful as I know how to be," she 
retorted. 

"I wouldn't care if xou onl\- would get hold of a wliole 
bunch and pull," e.\|)lained Frank; "but you just pull 
two or three hairs." 

"I guess the shears are kind o' dull," suggested his 
motiier. "I don't see what makes vour hair stand u]) 
so on top at the back. Must be \c)u don't brush it excej)! 
in front." 

"WCll, I can't see 'way back there," res])onded Frank. 

"1 think I'll ha\e to soap it," rc-marked his mother. 



76 The Farmer's Boy 

"Oh, don't," begged Frank. 

"Why, yoii don'l want it standing up that way all your 
life," said his mother. "What'U the girls think of you?" 

"I don't care nothin' about the girls," Frank affirmed. 

"Well," said she, "I can't have you goin' round lookin' 
like a little Indian ready to ])c scalped." 

So the con\ersation ran on until the ordeal come to an 
end. In the course of time, as the boy grew older, he 
looked u\) an uncle or a cousin who was an adept in the 
hair-cutting line, and got a tight clip that left him as bald 
as the most ancient of liis li\ing ancestors. He felt de- 
lightfully cool, an}way, and looks didn't count mucli with 
him at tliat age. 

As soon as the first ])loughing was done in the spring, 
the onions were sowed. Their little green needles soon 
prickled up through the ground, and within a few days 
thev had tlie c()m])an\' of a mullilude of weeds, whicli must 
be hoed and pulled out. One tiling the boy ni'ver (|uit(.' 
got lo under>tand was the curious fact thai weeds, at first 
start, will grow twice as fast as an_\- ust'ful crop. He wished 
weeds had some \alue. All }()u would haw to do would 
be to k'l lliem grow. '\'hc\ would take cnw of themsel\-es. 

In the case of llu' onions tlu- hoeing out ])ai"t was not 
\X'ry bad, but when he got down ;)n his hands and knees 
to scralt h the weeds out of tlu' i-ow> with his lingers, his 
troubli- be^an. The bo\- said his bac k aihed. His fatlu'r 



SiimnuT 



77 




comforlcd him by telling him thai he •^ucssetl not thai 
he was too young to ha\e the backache - thai he'd belter 
wait lill he was fifty or sixty, and his joints got stiff and 
he had the rheuniati>in ; tiun he would ha\e sometliinj^ 
to talk about. 



78 



The Farmer's Boy 



But the boy knew very well that his back did ache, and 
the sun was as hot again as it was when he was standing 
up, and his head felt as if it were going to drop off. He 
rose once in a while to stretch, and to see if there were any 
signs of his mother's wanting him at the house, or hens 
around that ought to be chased off, or anything else going 
on that would give him a chance for a change. He bent 
to his work again presently, and tried various changes 
from the plain stoop, such as one knee down and the 
other raised to support his chest, or a sit-doA\Ti and an 




attempt to weed backwai'd. When lefl lo liimMlf he 
took long rests at the ends of the rows, l\ing in tlu' grass 
on his l)aek under the shadow of an ai>i)le li-ee, or lie got 



Siimnur 79 

thirstv and wcnl into ihr house for a drink. \lv was 
afllirtc'd with thir>l a i^Mval deal wlu-n hv was wirdin^ 
onions, and hccanie cookydnin^n- rcmarkal)l\- often, too. 

His most agiveal)lr rr^pitr wliiU' wrech'ni,' onurfcd 
when he discovered iliat the nei,^hbor's Ijoy had eome out 
and was at work just over the fence. He threw a luni]) of 
dirt al liim to attract lii> attention, and then the}' exehanj^ed 
"helloes!" 

The boys' aches were not so severe afterward — at 
least, so long as he had the neighbor's boy over the fence 
to call at. Thev often >toi)ijed and leaned on the divid- 
ing fence and compari'd gardens, and h"kel\- enough got 
to boasting and perhaps (|uan"elled be'lore tlu'}' were 
tln-ougli. Once our boy ])ut an end to a (bspute b\- stand- 
ing W'd, the neighbor's boy, on his head in a muddy 
furrow. Ned, weeping and be(h"aggled, went oil to hnd 
our l)o\"s fatlier and c()ni])lain of what lie had suffered 
at the lad's hands. As for the latter, he was fearful his 
fate would be b}' no mean> ])lea>ant, and he did not dare 
go home till he had stuffed the rear pari of Ins trousers 
with grass. 

However, his father let him off this time with a few 
serious remarks on his misconduct, and the bo\- thought 
he was jjcrhaps amused by W-d's di--inal plight and >ome- 
whal gratilK'd that his son had \an(|ui>hed a bo\- larger 
than hiin>elf. 



8o 



The Farmer's Bo 



y 



When the bo}-'s father went awa}' from home, to be 
gone all clav, he was apt to set the boy a "stent." 






"You put into il, now," hv sa\s, "and lioe ihoM' ti't^hU'i'n 
rows of corn, and ihrn \()U can ]>la\- the rest of tlie day." 

'J"!u' h()\- was inclined lo \)c dul)ious wlicn lir con- 
leni])latcd lii< task. He didn't think lie could j^U't it done 
in tile whoK- da\'. Hut lie made a ^tart, and tonchKk'd 



Summer Si 

it was not so bad, after all. He kept at work with con- 
si(k'i"al)K' p(.i">(.\iTanr(.', and oid\- >t()]i]»cd to sit on the 
fence for a little whik' at the end of ewr\- other row, and 
once to go up the lane to pick a few ras])berrie> that had 
turned almost black. As the rows dwindled he became 
increasingly exuberant, and whistled all through the last 
one. When that was done, and he put the hoe o\er his 
shoulder and marched home, he had not a care in the 
workl . 

He had made up his mind early in the day tlial he would 
go fishing when he was free, and now he dug some worms 
back of the shop, brouglil out his pole, and hunted u]) his 
best friend. The best friend was watering tol)acco. . He 
could not lea\'e ju>t tlien, but if I-"rank would hel|) him 
for about fifteen minutes, he would ha\e that iob done 
and would go with him. 

The boys made the water lly, and it was not long before 
the\- and their poles and their tin bait-box were at the 
riverside. The water iu>l dimpled in the light I)ree/e. 
The warm afternoon sunliglil shorn.' in ihe bovs' faces 
and glittered on ihc ri])pk'>. Thi'\- comluded, after a 
while, that il wa> not a good afternoon for lishing, and 
thought wading would j)rove more profitable. As a 
result, they got their "])ants" wet and their jackets s|)at- 
tered, though whi-re all that wati-r came from tlu'\' couldn't 
make out. The\' ihoui/ht lhi'\- had been careful. Thev 



82 



The Farmer's Boy 



were afraid their mothers would make some unpleasant 
remarks when they reached home. It seemed best they 
should roll down their trousers and give them a chance to 
dry a little before they had to leave. ^Meanwhile they did 
not suffer for lack of amusement, for they found a lot of 
rubbish to throw into the water, and some flat stones to 




They wet then " pants " 

skip, and some hu k\-bu,t^s to catch, and laslly Chai'Hc 
Tiiompson's s])olled dot^ >h()\\ed liimsclf on the bank, 



Su 



miner 



83 




.ntir:' 



and ihcy enticed him down lo the shore and look lo wad- 
ing again, and had great fun, and got wetter than ever. 

As they walked home, Frank said, "Let's go llshing 
again, some (kiy," and Richard agrred wilhoul any hesi- 
tation. 

They caught not even a shiner this time, l)ut on some 
occasions they brought home a pereli or two and a bull- 
head and a sucker, strung on a willow twig. Rainy days 
were those on which they wen- freest to go llshing, and on 
such days the lish were sui)i)()>ed to bite best. The boy 



84 The Farmer's Boy 

seemed perfectly willing at almost any time lo don an 
old coat and an old felt hat and spend a whole drizzling 
morning slopping along the muddy margin of the river. 
No one could accuse him of being overfastidious. 

One time that Frank and Richard went fishing they 
were accompanied by the latter's older brother Nathan 
who was at home from college for his summer vacation. 
Nathan had that day received a book he very much wanted 
to read, and it was only when the other two said they would 
do the fishing and leave him to peruse the book undis- 
turbed that he consented to go along. He sat do\\Ti 
under the willows a little back from the water's edge, and 
the boys tossed in their lines. 

"Frank," said Richard, "what kind of fish are you 
going to catch?" 

"I don't know," responded Frank. "What kind are 
you?" 

"Oh, some real l)ig kind," said Ricliard. "Sav, 
Nathan, wIkU kind of fish would you (.atih?" 

"I wouldn't worry al)out that," re])lied Natlian. 
"Catch anything that comes along." 

"Yes, but 1 want some real big kind," was Richard's 
resj)onse, and he was about to make a further a])])eal to 
Nathan when he noliu'd that the l)ait-can was o\er- 
turned. "There, I'Vank, see what \()u"\e done," said 
he. ".\11 the worms are S([uirmin' away." 



Siiiiinicr 85 

The boys dropped their poles, got down on tlicir knees 
in the mud, and bet^an to |)ick iij) the stra\ini,f worms. 
''How funii}- ilu'\- ciawl." mnarkrd Frank. "They 
strrlcli out so lonL,^ and ihin you can ahiiost see llirough 
'em, and iluii tlir\ di-aw up iliick again." 

"I think wr might Ui ihi> h'ttlc fellow go," suggested 
Richard. 

"Throw him out to the fish," said Frank. 

"Xo, no, no!" exclaimed Richard. 'Tie's my nice 
little wormy." 

■'Well, lei him go then," responded Frank. "Here, 
I'll make a path for him with m\ finger." 

■'()h, k'rank, you"\e ma<K' ihe |)alh, right down to 
the water," >aid Richard. "He don't want to go down 
there." 

"Perhaj)s he wants a drink," I-^-ank observed. 

"Worms li\e in the ground, and ihey don't drink noih- 
in'," declared Richani, wisely. "I'll make a path up 
this way for him. Now he's goin' it good. Oh, Xathan, 
he's comin' I He's comin' I" 

"What's that?" asked Xaihan, looking up. "Who's 
coming? I don'i see any one." 

"It's my wormy," explained Richaid. "He's crawlin' 
right toward \()u." 

Xathan resumed his reading, and ])resentlv the bovs 
tired of watching the worm and took up their poles. 



86 



The Farmer's Boy 



"Now, let's catch some fish," said Richard. "Ain't it 
hot, though? But just see how the cork on your hne is 
bobbing !" 

With a mighty jerk Frank Hung a httle fish at the end 
of his h'ne far back on the land, nearl}- liilling Nathan on 




7' /.\7// //,!,' 

die head. The \()ung man started up in somi- ahiiMn, 
but hv soon uncU'rstood whal had h;i] )])rnrd, and I'rank 
exhibited in triumph the "puidsiu M'cd"" hr had i aught. 
As l""r;ink piej)ai\d to ri.>ume l"i>hing, \\v appealed to 



SumiiuT 87 

Nathan with the remark ihai, "Will Ramcy says you've 
got to always sj)it on your bait if xou want to catth any 
fish. Do you think that's so?" 

But Nathan rej)lie(l that he did not know. The bovs 
for a while cm])loyed themselves in throwing in tlieir lines 
and j)ulling them out with no results. "The fish don't 
bile nuuh. Xalhan." >aid I-"rank. 

"No, they don't bite any," declared Richard. 

"You don't leave your hooks in long enough to give 
them a chance," Nathan responded. 

"I'm tired of holding this old pole," said I'lank after a 
pause. "See, right here near shore are some jjoUvwogs!" 

They laid down iheir poles and ga\e their entire atten- 
tion to the pollywogs whit h they told Nathan looked like 
"black o\'ercoat buttons with tails to 'em." Riihard 
caught one. "I'd take him home, if 1 had something to 
carry him in," he said. 

"^'ou might put him in your handkrnhief," suggested 
PVank. 

"That's so," said Richard, feeling in his jKxkets. 
"But I can't find it. Let me use vours." 

Frank, after making an unsuccessful search, resjjonded: 
"I tan't Imd mine, either. Ciet Nathan's. lie most 
always has two or three." 

"Nathan!" Riihard lalled, "can I use one of your 
handkerchiefs?" 



88 The Farmer's Boy 

"Why, if it's very important, I suppose you can," was 
his reply. 

"Yes, it is," declared Richard. "I want to carry home 
a pollywog in it." 

"Well, I guess not," said Xathan. "You'd better 
keep track of your own handkerchief if you want to use 
it for such purposes." 

"We might empty the bait can and put him in that with 
water enough for him to swim in," said Frank. 

This was what they did, and Richard said he was going 
to call him "Polly." 

Then Frank caught one, and said: "Fm goin' to call 
mine Woggy. Let me put him in with yours." 

Richard was inclined to ol)jcct, until Frank explained 
that his comrade's ))ollywog would be lonesome. They 
were still playing with the |)()llywogs when Nathan called 
to them that it was time to go liome. 

"Oh, no, not yet," objected tlie boys; "we want to 
catch some more fish." 

But Nathan would not allow any lingering, and otT they 
marclied, carrying their shoes and stockings and poles 
and the ])umpkin seed and llic two poUywogs. They felt 
prcttv well satisfied after all. .\s for Natlian, he had 
read jusl ele\cn ])ages in luV l)()ok. 

At some i)eriod in liis career llie boy was pretty sure to 
bring home a li\e fish in his tin hmch-pail and turn him 



.uinnier 



89 



loose in the water lul) at the l)arn ; and he mit^ht cateh 
a (lo/.en or two minnows in a ])Ool left landlocked h\ a 




Sonir jitii in llir shop 

fall of the water, and put thoM' in. 1 h- would sei- them 
chasing around in tiuTi-, and tlu' old hii^^ fish luri<in,L,'. wrv 
solemn, in the darkest dcjiths, anil he iVd tluni bits of 



QO The Farmer's Boy 

bread and worms, and planned for them a very happy and 
comfortable life till they should be grown up and he was 
ready to eat them. But they disappeared in time, and 
there was not one left. The boy had an idea they must 
have eaten each other, and then one of die cows had 
swallowed the last one. 

In the early summer strawberries were ripe. They were 
the first berries to come that amounted to anything. You 
could pick a few wintergreen and partridge berries on the 
hillsides in spring, but those hardly counted. The boy 
always knew spots on the farm where the strawberries 
grew wild, and when, some early morning, he went to 
]msture with the cows and was late to breakfast, it proved 
he had been tramping after berries. He had pushed 
about among the dew-laden tangles of the grass until he 
was as wet as if he Inid been in the river, but he was in a 
glowing Iriuniph on his return oxxt the red clusters he 
j)ulled from Ids ha'f filled lial to displa}' to the family. 

Some farmer in tlie neighb;)rhood was pretty sure to 
raise strawberries for market, and ])ai(l two cents a (|uart 
for picking. Jf so, tlu' boy could not rest easy till his 
folks agreed to let him impro\e this chance to gain ])ocket- 
monev, which was a thing he ne\er faiU'd to be short of. 
He would get up at thrc'e o'clock in the morning and 
carry hi^ l)riakfa>l with him in order to he on hand in the 
held with the rest of tlu' children at da\hreak. His eairer- 



Smiinier gi 

ness cooled olT in a few day>, and it was only with the 
greatest dilTiculty that the c'mi)loycT would get his youthful 
help to stick to the work through the season. They had 
eaten the berries till they were sick of them ; they were 
tired of stooping, and they had earned so much that their 
longings for wealth were satisfied. They were a])t to get 
to S(|uabbling aljout rows while ])icking, and to enliven 
the work on dull days b\- "sassing" one another. The 
proper position for picking is a stoo])ing posture, but when 
the boy came home you could see by the spotted pattern 
on the knees and seat of his trousers that he had made 
some sacrifices to comfort. The ])ro|)rietor of the berry 
fields, and all concerned, were glad when they got to the 
end of the season. 

The boy was uj) so early on those June mornings that 
he was in time to hear the air full of bird-songs as it would 
be at no other time through the day. What made the 
birds so madi}- happy as soon as the east caught the I'lrst 
tints of the coming sun? The village trees seemed fairly 
alive with the songsters, and every bird was doing its best 
to outdo the rest. Most boys had not a verv wide ac- 
(|uaintance with the ijird-. but there were certain of the 
feathered folk that never faik'd to interest them. The boy's 
faxorite was ])relty sure to be the bobolink —he is suih 
a ha])|)y fellow; lu- n-i-ls through the air in such delight 
over his singing and the sunnv weather. How his song 



92 The Farmer's Boy 

gurgles and glitters ! How he swells out his throat ! How 
prettily he balances and sways on the woody stem of some 
tall meadow flower ! He has a beautiful coat of black and 
white, and the boy wondered at the rusty feathers of his 
mate, which looked like an entirely different bird. As the 
season advanced bobolink changed, and not for the 
better. His handsome coat grew dingy, and he lost his 
former gayety. He had forgotten almost altogether the 
notes of his earlier song of tumbling happiness, and 
croaked harshly as he stuffed himself on the seeds with 
which the helds now teemed. Ease and high living seemed 
to have spoiled his character, just as if he had been human. 
Before summer was done the bobolinks gathered in com- 
panies, and wheeled about the fields in little clouds pre- 
paratory to migrating. Sometimes the whole flock flew 
into a big tree, and from amid the foliage came scores of 
tinkling notes as of manv tiny bells jingling. The boy 
saw no more of the Ijoljoiinks till they returned in the 
spring to again pour forth their oNertlowing joy on the 
blossom-scented air of the meadows. 

One of the other birds that the boy was familiar with 
was the lark, a coarse, large bird with two or three white 
feathers in its tail: hut the lark was too sol)er to interest 
him much. Then there was the catbird, of sK'ek form 
and slat\- plumage. Hitting and mewing among the shad- 
ows of the a])ple-tree boughs. The brisk robin, who 




*. o 



Suninier 93 

always had a scarcfl look and therefore was out of character 
as a robber, he knew very well. Robin built a rouj^h nest 
of straws and mud in the crotches of the fruit trees, and 
he had a habit of crying in sharp notes at sundown, as if 
he were afraid sorrow was coming to him in some shape. 
The robin had a carolling song, too, but that the boy was 
not so sure of sej)aniling from ihe music of the other birds. 

He recognized the woodpeckers by their long bills and 
the way they could trot uj) and down the tree trunks, 
wrong-side up, or anyhow. He knew the bluebird by its 
color and the pho?be by its song. The orioles were not 
numerous enough for him to have much accjuaintance 
with them, but he was familiar with the dainty nests they 
swung far out on the tips of the branches of the big shade 
trees. He saw numbers of little birds, when the cherries 
ripened and the peapods filled out, that were as bright as 
glints of golden sunlight. They varied in lluir tinting 
and size, but iu- called llu-m all yellow-birds, and had a 
])Oor ojjinion of them, for he rarely saw them except when 
they were stealing. 

Along the water courses he now and then glim])sed a 
heavy-headed kingfisher sitting in solemn watchfulness 
on a limb or making a startling, headlong j)lunge into a 
pool. Along >h()re the san(i|)i])ers ran about in a nervous 
wa\" on liii-ir thin legs, alway^^ teetering and complaining, 
and taking fright and tlitiing awa\ at the Kast sound. 



94 The Farmer's Boy 

On the borders of the ponds the boy sometimes came on 
a crane or a blue heron meditating on one leg up to its 
knee in water. Off it would go in awkward flight, trail- 
ing its long legs behind it. On the ponds, too, the wild 
ducks alighted in tlie fall and s])ring on their journeys 
south and north. There might be as many as twenty of 
the compact, glossy-backed creatures in a single flock, 
but a smaller number was more common. The swallows, 
on summer days, were to be found skimming over the 
waters of the streams and ponds, and they made flying 
dips and twittered and rose and fell and twisted and 
turned, and seemed very hajjjjy. Hiey had holes in a 
higli bank in the \icinity, and if the l:)oy thought he 
wanted to get a collection of birds' eggs, he armed himself 
with a trowel, some day, and climbed the steep djrt bank 
to dig them out. Tlie holes went in about an arnri's 
length, and at the end was a rude little nest, and some 
white eggs with such tender shell> that the boy broke many 
more tlian he succeeded in carrying away. He stored 
such eggs as he gathered from time to lime in small wooden 
or pasteboard bo.xes, with cotton in the l)ottoms, until too 
many of the eggs got broken, wlun hr ihrrw the whole 
thing away. His interest had \)vvn destructi\e and 
lemjjorarx', and hv would nnu h bclUT ha\'e studied in a 
differenl fashion, or turned lii> lalcnl to soiuctliing (.'Ise. 
Several other bird> are >till to be nuntioiud lluil <faine I 




JJ'iri! lC''rk 



S 11 miner 95 

his attention. There were the humming ]:>irds that buzzed 
about among the blossoms, inserting their long bills, and 
they could poise on their misty wings with bodies won- 
derfully motionless. They had hues of the rainbow 
in their feathers, and they Hashed out of sight across 
the yard in no time when they saw the boy. The 
barn and chimney swallows he noticed most at twilight, 
darting in tangled Ihghts in upper air or skimming 
low over the fields in twittering alertness. How thev 
worried the old cat as she crouched in the havfield ! 
Again and again they almost touched her head in llieir 
circling, but they were so swift and changeful thai the cat 
had no chance of catching ihem. Then there was the 
kingbird which the bo\' \ery much admired — he was a 
vigorous, gooddooking fellow, with an admirable antij)athy 
for tyrants and bullies. Size made no difference with him. 
He put the crow to ungainly th'ght ; he followed the hawk, 
and the boy could see liim high in air darting down at 
the great bird's back again and again ; and he did not e\en 
fear the eagle. In corn-])lanting time the whip-poor-w\jl 
made the evening air ring with his lonely calls, and the 
boy sometimes saw his dusky form standing lengthwise' 
of a fence rail just as the bird was about to t1it far off 
across the fields and renew more distantly its whistling 
cry. The most distressing bird of all was the little screech- 
owl. Its tremulous and long-drawn wail suggested that 



96 



The Farmer's Boy 



some one human was in the orchard crying out in his last 
feeble agonies. The boy was scared when he heard the 
screech-owl. 

The great and only holiday of the summer was Fourth 
of July. The boy \ery likely did not know or especially 

care about the philosophic mean- 
ing of the day. As he under- 
stood it, the occasion was one 
whose first recjuirement was lots 
of noise. To furnish this in 
plenty, he was willing to begin 
the day by getting up at mid- 
night to parade the village street 
with the rest of the boys, and 
toot horns and set otf fire- 
crackers, and liven up the sleepy 
occupants of the liomes by 
making i)articular eiforts before 
each dwelling. The serenaders 
had a care in their operations 
to be on guard, that they miglit 
hasten to a safe distance if any 
one rushed out to lecture or 
chastise them; but when every- 
thing continued (juiet within doors, thi'y would hoot and 
howl for some time, and e\en blow up the mail-box with 




Fourth oj July 



Siiiiinier 



97 



a cannon cracker, or commit other mild depredations, to 
add to the glory of the occasion. When some particu- 
larly brilliant brain conceived the idea of getting all the 




Selling ojj a jirrrrack'er 

boys to take hold of an old mowing machine and gallop 
it through the dark street in full clatter, it may be sup- 
posed that the final touch was given to American inde- 
pendence and liberty. 

Not all tlu' boys went roaming around thus, and the 
older and rougher ones were the leaders. The smaller 
boys did not enter very heartily into some of the fun, 
though they dared not openly hang back ; and when the 
stars paled and the I'lrst gray apj)roach of dawn began 



98 The Farmer's Boy 

to lighten the east, the little fellows felt very sleepy and 
lonely in spite of the company and noise. They were 
glad enough when, about this time, the band broke up 
and they could steal away home and to bed. The day 
itself was enlivened by much popj)ing of firecrackers 
and torpedoes in farm dooryards — and there was a 
village picnic, in the afternoon, and a grand setting-off 
in the evening of pin-wheels, Roman candles, a nigger- 
chaser, and a rocket. After the rocket had gone up into 
the sky with its wild whirr and its showering of sparks, 
and had toppled and burst and burned out into black- 
ness, the day was ended, and the boy retired with the 
happiness that comes from labor done and duty well 
performed. 

The work of all others that most filled the summer months 
was haying. In the hill towns where the land is stony 
and steep, much of it was cut over with scythes, but the 
majority of New England farmers did nearly all of their 
grass-cutting with mowing machines. A boy would 
hardly do much of the actual mowing in either case until 
he was in his teens; but long before that he was called 
on to turn the grindstone — an operation that preceded 
the mowing of each field. He became ])retty sick of 
that grindstone before the summer was through. 

He liked to follow after the mowing machine. There 
was something enlivening in its clatter, and he enjoyed 



Summer 



99 



seeing the grass tumble backwanl as the (hirting kni\es 
struck their stalks. \lv did not care so much about fol- 
lowing his father when lie mowed with a scythe; for then 
he was expected to carry a fork and spread the swath 
his father ])iled u]) behind him. ( )n the little farms 




The grindstone 

machines were lacking to a degree, and the boys had to 
do mu( h of the turning and raking by hand. Finally, 
they had to borrow a horse to get the hay in. The best- 
j)rovi(led farmer usually did ^-ome borrowing, and there 
were those who were running to borrow all the time — 
that is, they kept the b<i\ running. Hoys are made for 



100 



The Farmer's Boy 



running. The boy did not hkc this job very well, for 
the lender was too often doubtful in his manner, if not 
in his words. 




IT 



Jt!f 



Two who have been a -borrowing; 

On still summer days the haylield was apt to be a \ery 
hot place. The hay itself had a ^ray glisten, and the 
low-lyin<^ air shimnurt'd wiili the heat. Il was all very 
well if the boy could ridi' on the tedder or raki\ but il 
made the jierspiration start if he had to do an}' work by 



Su 



mmer 



lOl 



hand. He did not haw to be mucli of a ])oy to be called 
on by his father to rake the scatterings back of the load, 
and he had to be on the jump all the lime to keep up. 
The boy was pretty well grown before he had the strength 
to do {hv ])iiching on. Whatever he did in tlie field, his 
phue in the barn was under the roof "mowing awav." 
The place was (kisky, and the du>t Hew, and a cricket or 
some uncomfortable many-legged creature crawled down 
his back. It was hot and stifling, and the hay came up 
about twice as fast as he wanted it to. Before the load 




Un Ifii lhi\ tiii.ur 



J 02 The Farmer's Boy 

was quarter off, he began lo hsten for the welcome scratch 
of his father's fork on the wagon rack. That signalled 
the nearing the bottom of the load. Even after the last 
forkful was thro^^Tl up, he had to creep all around under 
the eaves to tread the hay more solidly. He was glad 
enough when he could crawl down the ladder and go 
into the house and give his head a soak under the pump, 
and get a drink of water. There was nothing tasted 
much better than water when he was dry that way, unless 
it was the sweetened water that they took in a jug 
right down to the hayficld with them. 

I do not wish to give the impression that haying was made 
u]) too much of sweat and toil, and that the boy found 
this ]x'riod ahogethera season of trial and tribulation. 
The work was not at all bad on cool days, and some boys 
liked the jumping about on load and mow. There was 
fun in the jolting, rattling ride on the springless wagon 
to the havfield, and when the haycocks in the orchard 
were rolled u]) for the night, the boys had great sjiort 
turning somersaults oxer them. 'J'hen there were ex- 
hilarating occasions when the sky blackened, and trom 
the distant hori/on came llie Hashing and muttering of 
an approaching tliunderslorm. Everybody did his l)est 
then; thev raced the horses to tlie lield and \hv liay was 
rolled up, and forkful after forkful went twinkling up on 
the lo'.id in no time. Hut the siorni was likely to come 



Summer 103 

before they were done. There was a spattering of great 
drops, that gave warning, and a dash of cold wind, and 
everybody — teams and all — would race helter-skelter 
to the bams. The\' were in luck if they i^o[ there before 
tile wliole air was lilled with llie ll_\inLi; (lr()])s. It was 
a ])leasurable excitement. an\wa\', and the b{)\' fell \ery 
comfortable, in spite of his wet clothes, as he sat on the 
meal-chest talking with the others, listening to the rolling 
thunder and the rain rattling on the roof and s])lashing 
into the yard from the eaves-spout. He looked out of 
the big barn doors into the sheeted rain thai \eiled the 
fields with its hurrying mists, and saw its half-glooms 
lit up now and ilu-n ])\ the ])allid Hashes of the lightning. 

Presently came a Ijurst of sunlight, the rain ceased, and 
as the storm receded a rainbow arched its shredded 
tatters. All Nature glittered and dri])])ed and tinkh?d. 
The trees and fields had the freshness of s])ring, and the 
tips of every leaf and every blade of grass twinkled with 
diamond drops of water. The boy ran out with a shout 
to the roadside ])uddles. The chickens left the shelter 
of the sheds, and rejoiced in the number of worms ( rawl- 
ing about the har(l-j)acked earlh of the dooryanl, and 
all kinds of l)irds began singing in jubilee. 

But whate\er incidental pleasuri's then- might be in 
haying, it was generally considered a season of uncom- 
monlv hard work, and at its end the farm familv thoutrht 



104 



The Farmer's Boy 



itself entitled to a picnic and a season of milder labor. 
The picnic idea usually developed into a plan to go for 
a whole day to some resort of picnickers, where you had 
to pay twenty-five cents for admission — children half 
price. Of course, there were all sorts of ways that you 




Discussing the colt 

could spend a good deal more than that at these places, 
but il was mostly tlie x'oung men, wlio fell called on to 
demotislrate ihi'ir fondness for the girls thev had l)i-ought 
with them, who patroni/.ed the extras. The farm fainilv 
was economical. Tliev carried feed for their horses 
and a big lunch basket packed full for themseh'es, and 



Suiiiiiier 105 

simply indulged in all the things that were free; though 
Johnny and Tommy were allowed to draw on their 
meagre supjjly of poekel-money to the extent of five cents 
each for candy. There were swings to swing in and 
tables to eat on in a grove, and, if ihe s])()l was by a lake 
or ri\er, there were boats to row in and fish to catch, 
only you couldn't calcli tliem. Meanwhile the horses 
were tied conveniently in the woods, and spent the day 
kicking and switching at the flies that happened around. 
Toward evening the wagon was backed about and loaded 
u]), the horses hitched into it, and exerybody ])iled in 
and noses were counted, and off they went homeward. 
The sun set, the bright skies faded, and the stars sparkled 
out one by one and looked down on them as the horses 
jogged along the glooms of the half-woofled, unfamiliar 
roadways. Some of the children got down under the 
seats and crooned in a shaking gurgle as the wagon 
jolted their voices; and they shut their eyes and fancied 
the vehicle was going backward — oh, so swiftly I Then 
they opened their eyes, and there were the tree lea\es 
fluttering overhead and the dee]) night sky above, and 
they saw they were going on, after all. When they 
neared home they all sat up on the seats once more and 
watched for faniih'ar objects along the road. At last 
the house was close at hand ; the horses turned into the 
yard; the family climbed out of the wagon, and in a few 



io6 The Farmer's Boy 

minutes a lamp was lighted in the kitchen, A neighbor 
had milked the cows. The children were so tired they 
could hardly keep their eyes open, but they must have 
a slice of bread and butter all around, and a piece of pie. 
Then, tired but happy, they bundled off to bed. 

Not every excursion of this kind was to a public pleasure 
resort. Sometimes the family went after huckleberries 
or blackberries, or for a day's visit to relatives who lived 
in a neighboring town, or to see a circus parade at the 
county seat. The family vehicle was apt to be the high, 
two-seated spring wagon. It was not particularly hand- 
some to look at, but I fancy it held more happiness than 
the gilded cars with their gaudy occupants that they saw 
pass in the parade. 

The strawberries were the first heralds of a summer 
full of good things to eat. The boy began sampling 
each fruit in turn as soon as it showed signs of ripening, 
and on farms where children were numerous and fruits 
were not, very few things ever got ripe. You would not 
have thought to look at him that a small boy could eat 
so much as he contri\t'd to stow away. He would be 
chewing on something all the morning, and ha\c just as 
good an ai)])clite for dinner as e\er. in llic afternoon 
he would eat se\enteen green apples, and he on hand 
for su])j)er as h'\'el\- as a cricket. Still, at limes he rt']iente<l 
his eating indiscretions in sackcloth and ashes. There 



aimmcr 



107 




(Jrccit apple mcdkifw 

was a point in ihc <^r(.'fn-a])i)k' line Ijcyond which even 
the small bo}' could nol safely j^o. The Iwistini,' pains 
gripped his stomach, and he had to t^o to his mother and 
get her to do something to keej) him in the land of the liv- 
ing. He rejx'nted of all his misdeeds while the pain was 



io8 The Farmer's Boy 

on him, just as he would in a thunderstorm in the night 
that waked and scared him ; and he said his prayers, 
and hoped, after all, if these were his last days, he had 
not been so bad but that he would go to the good place. 
When he grew better, however, he forgot his pain and the 
vows he had made to be a better boy, and he did some 
more things to repent of. But that is not peculiarly a 
boyish trait. . Grown-up people do that. 



IV 

AUTUMN 

BY Si'ptcmbcr there began to be dashes of color 
among the upland trees. This color appeared 
first in some weakling bush, so poorly nourished, 
or by chance injured, that il mu>l shorten its year and 
bum out thus early its meagre foliage; but as soon as 
these pale flames are seen among the greens, you know 
that the year has passed its ])rime. 

Grown people may experience a touch of melancholy 
with the aj)proach of autumn. The years fly fast — 
another of those allotted to them is almost gone; the 
brightening foliage is a ])resage of bare twigs, of frost 
and frozen earth, and the gales and snows of winter. This 
was not the boy's view. He was not rctrosy)ecti\"e; his 
interests were bound up in the present and the future. 
There was a good deal of unconscious wisdom in his 
mental attitude. He looked forward, whatever the 
time of year, with unflagging enthusiasm to the days 
approaching, and he rejoiced in all he saw and exi)eri- 
enced, and did not worry himself with allegories. 

The bright-leaved tree at the end of summer was a 

109 



no 



The Farmer's Boy- 



matter of interest both for its brightness and its unex- 
pectedness. The boy picked a branch and took it home to 
show to his mother, and the next day he carried it to school 




A mud turtle 

and gave it to the teacher. He would have been glad 
to share all the good thing- of life that camt' to him with 
his teacher. Next to hi> mother, she was the brst person 
he knew of. Ik- nrwr found anylhing in his wanderings 
about home or in the lields or woods that was curious or 



A Lit LI inn III 

beautiful or eatable but that the thought of the teacher 
flashed into his mind. His intentions were better than 
his abih'ty to carry them out, for he often forgot himself, 
and on ihc \\a\' home ate all the berries he had ])icked, 
or he got lired and ilirew away the treasures he had 
gathered. Hut wliat he did take to the teacher was sure 
of a welcome and an interest that made him ha])i)y, and 
more her faithful follower than ever. 

Summer merges so gently into autumn that it isdifticult 
to tell where to draw the line of sejjaration. Sejitember, 
as a rule, is a montli of mild days mingled with some 
that ha\e all ihe heat of midsummer; Ijul ihe nights 
are cooler, and at times the dew felt icy cold to the boy's 
bare feet on his morning trips to and from pasture. 

The meadows were now being clipped of their second 
crop of grass; the j)olalo toj)s had withered and lost 
themselves in the motley masses of green weeds that con- 
tinued to flourish after the potatoes themselves had 
ri])ened ; the loaded api)le trees drooped their branches 
and sprinkled the earth with early fallen fruit ; the coarse 
grasses and woody creej)crs along the fences turned 
russet and crimson, and the garden became increasingly 
ragged and forlorn. 

The garden reached its fulness and began to go to 
pieces in July. First among its summer treasures came 
lettuce and radishes, then peas and sweet com and string 



112 



The Farmer's Boy 



beans and early potatoes. The boy had a great deal 
more to do with these things than he liked, for the gather- 




Pick iiig hlackhcrrics 

ing of them was among those small jobs it was so handy 
to call on liim lo do. Howexer, lie got not a little con- 
solation out of il I)\' calinu: of tlie lhinu;s lu- trathercd. 



Autumn 



IT.^ 



Raw string beans were not at all bad, and a pod full of 
peas made a pleasant and juicy mouthful, while a small 
ear of sweet corn or a stalk of rhubarb or an onion, and 
even a cucumber, could be used to \ar)- the bill of fare. 
Along one side of the garden was a row of currant bushes. 
He was supposed to let those mostly alone, as his mother 
had warned him she wanted them for "jully.'' But he 
did not interpret her warning so literally but that he al- 
lowed himself to rejoice his palate with an occasional 
full cluster. It was when the tomatoes ripened that the 
garden reached the 
to}) notch in its 
offering of raw deli- 
cacies. Those red, 
full - skinned tro- 
phies fairly melted 
in the boy's mouth. 
He liked them bet- 
ter than green aj)- 
ples. 

The potatoes 
were the hardest 
things to manage 
of all tlie gardi-n 
vegetables which he was sent out to get for dinner. 
His folks had an idea that you could dig into the sitles 




l'ulalu-biti^\;^iiig 



114 The Farmer's Boy 

of the hills and pull out the big potatoes, and then cover 
up and let the rest keep on growing ; but when the boy 
tried this and finished with a hill, he had to acknowledge 
that it did not look as if it would ever amount to much 
afterward. 

The sweet-corn stalks from which the ears were picked 
had to be cut from time to time and fed to the cows. It 
was this thinning out of the corn, as much as the withering 
of the pea and cucumber vines and irregular digging of 
the potatoes, that gave the garden its early forlomness. 

By August the pasture grass had been cropped short by 
the cows, and the drier slopes had withered into brown. 
Thenceforth it was deemed necessary to furnish the cows 
extra feed from other sources of su])i)ly. The farmer 
would mow with his scythe, on many evenings, in the 
nooks and corners about his buildings or along the road- 
side and in the lanes, and the results of these small mow- 
ings were left for the boy to bring in on his wheelbarrow. 
Another source of fodder supply was tlie ticld of Ind- 
ian corn. Around the bases of the hills there sprouted 
manv surplus shoots a foot or two in length kno^^'n as 
"suckers." These were of no earthly use where they 
were, and the boy on a small farm often had the privilege, 
toward evening, of cutting a load of the suckers lor the 
cows. Among them he galiiered a good many lull-grown 
stalks thai had no ears on ihem. Possil)ly there was 



A Lit LI 



nin 



"5 




A voyage on a log 

a patch of fodder corn sown in rows on some ])iecc of 
late-ploughed ground, and a pan of ilu- time lie might 
gather from that. He had to bring in as heaw a load 
as he could wheel every night, and on Saturday an extra 
one to last o\"er Sunday. 

The cows had to ha\e special attention from the boy 
one wav or another the year through. They were most 
aggravating, ])erha])S, when in Sejitember the shortness 



Ii6 The Farmer's Boy 

of feed in the pasture made them covetous of the con- 
tents of the adjoining fields. Sometimes the boy would 
sight them in the corn. His first great anxiety was not 
about the corn, but as to whether they were his folks' 
cows or belonged to the neighbors. He would much 
rather warn some one else than undertake the cow-chasing 
himself. If his study of the color and spotting of the 
cows proved they were his, he went in and told his mother, 
then got his stick and took a bee-line across the fields. 
He was wrathfully inclined when he started, and he be- 
came still more so when he found how much disposed 
the cows were to keep tearing around in the corn or to 
race about the fields in as many different directions 
as there were animals. He and the rest of the school 
had lately become members of the Band of Mercy, and 
on ordinary occasions he had a kindly feeling for his 
cows; but now he was ready to throw all sentiment 
aside, and he would break his stick over the back 
of any one of the cows if she would give him the chance, 
which she \ery unkindly would not. He had lost In's 
temper, and jH'esently he lost liis l)reatli, and he just 
dripped with perspiration. He dragged himself a^ong 
at a ])anting walk, and he found, after all, that this did 
fully as well as all the racing and shouting he had bt'en 
indulging in. Indeed, he was not sure but the cows 
had "Tot the notion that he had come out to haw a little 



Autuiiin 



117 



caper over the farm with thum for his personal enjoy- 
ment. 

All lliinji;s haxe an end. and in linu' ihc boy made the 
last cow lea]) the ,u;ap in ihc broken frnce back into the 
pasture. Then c\erv one of them went to browsing as if 
nothing had happened, or looked at him mildl\- with an 



4 




A corner of the sheep yard 

inriiiiring forward lilt of the ears, as if thcv wanted to 
know what all this row was about, anywaw The boy 
replaced the kncu ked-down rails, staked things uj) as well 
as he knew how, picked some pci3|jerminl by the brook to 



ii8 



The Farmer's Boy 



munch, and trudged off home. When he had drunk a 
quart or so of water and eaten three cookies, he Ijcgan to 
feel that he was himself again. 

Besides all the extra foddering mentioned, it was 
customary on the small farms to give the cows, late in 
the year, an hour or two's baiting each day. The cows 
were baited along the roadside at first, but after the rowen 
was cut, they were allowed to roam about the grass fields. 
Of course, it was the boy who had to watch them. There 




S /looting with a " slitti^" 



Autuiiin 119 

were unfenced crops and the apples that lay thick under 
the trees to be guarded, not to mention the turnips in 
the newly seeded lot, and the cabbages on the hill that 
would spoil the milk if the cows ate any of llum. Then, 
too, tlie l)()un(lary line fences were out of rei)air, and the 
cows seemed to have a great anxiety to get over on the 
neighbors' ])remiscs, even if the grass was nnu h scantier 
than in tlie lield where lliey were feeding. The boy 
brought out a book, and settled himself with his back 
against a fence post and planned for an easy time. The 
cows seemed to understand die situation, and lliey went 
exploring round, as the boy said, "in tlie most insensible 
fashion he ever saw — -wouldn't kee]) nowhere, nor any- 
where else." He tried to make them slay widdn bounds 
by veiling at them while sitting still, but they did not 
appear to care the least bit about ids remarks un- 
less he was right beldnd tlu-m with a slick in his hand. 
The cows did not allow the boy to suffer for lack of ex- 
ercise, and the hero in ihe book he was reading had con- 
tinually to l)e deserted in the most desperate situations 
while he ran off to give those cows a training. 

There was one of the cow's relations that the boy 
had a particular fondness for — -1 mean the calf. ( )n 
small farms [hv lone >ummer calf was telherrd handily 
somewhere about tin- premises. Every day or two, 
when it had nibbled and trodden the circuit of grass 



120 



The Farmer's Boy 



within reach pretty thoroughly, it was moved to a fresh 
spot. The boy did this, and he fed the calf its milk 

each night and 
morning. If the 
calf was very 
}oung, it did not 
know enough to 
drink, and the boy 
had to dip his fin- 
gers in the milk 
and let the calf 
suck them while 
he enticed it, by 
gradually lower- 
ing his hand, to 
])Ut its nose in 
the pail. When 
hv had his hand 
in the milk and 
the calf imagined 
it was getting lots 
of milk out of the 
1)()\V fingers, lie 
would ge'nll}- witli- 
draw them. 'I'he calf was inclined to resent this by giv- 
ing a \igorous bum witii ils iuad. \\t\' likc-h' the 




Al the Ihini daur 



Aiir 



umn 



121 



bov got sloppcfl, but he knew what to expect well enough 
not to allow himself to be sent sprawling. He repealed 
the finger process until in time the calf would drink 
alone, but he never could gel it to stoj) bunting. In- 
deed, he did not try very hard, except occasionally, for 




Willi liiiii^ work 111 the sau'itiill 

he found it rather entertaining, and sometimes he did 
not object to butting his own head against the calf's. 

Things became most exciting when the calf got loose. 
It would go gallo])ing all about the j)remises, showing no 
regard for the garden, or the llower plants, or the towels 
laid out on the grass to dry. It made the chickens s(|uawk 
and scam])er, and tlie turkeys gobble and the geese gabble. 



122 The Farmer's Boy 

Its heels went kicking through the air in all sorts of posi- 
tions, its tail was elevated like a flag pole, and there 
was a rattling chain hitched to its neck that was jerking 
along in its company. The calf was liable to step on 
this chain, and then it stood on its head with marvellous 
suddenness. The women and girls all came out to save 
their linen and "shoo" the calf off when it approached 
the flowers, but it was the boy who took on himself the 
task of capturing the crazy animal. The women folks 
seemed much distressed by the calf's performances, 
while the boy was so overcome with the funniness of 
his calf that lie was only halfway efl'ective in the chasing. 
At last the calf aj^parcntly saw something it never 
noted before ; for it stopped stock still and stretched 
its ears forward as if in great amazement. Now was 
the boy's chance. He stole u]) and grabbed the end 
of the chain ; but at that moment the calf concluded it 
saw nothing worlln- of aslonishnu-nl, and started off 
again fidl lilt, trailing a small boy behind, whose twinkling 
legs never went so fast before. It was a (juestion if things 
were not in a more desperate state than they were ])re- 
viously. By this time- the 1x)y's fatlur and a few of the 
neighbors' boys appeared on the seem, and betwei'n 
them all the calf got confused, and allowed itself to bi' 
tethered once more in the m()>t docile subjection. \'ou 
would not ha\e thought the gentle little creature, which 



Autumn 



123 




was so mildly niljbling off the clover loaves, was capable 
of such wild doings. 

On farms where oxen were used the boy was allowed 
to train a ])air of steers. While the training was going 
on, the bo}- could be heard shouting out his threats and 
commands from one end of the town to the other. Even 
old (irandjja Smith, who liad been deaf as a stone these 
ten years, asked what the noise was about when our 
boy began training steers. By dint of his shoutings 
and whackings it was no great time before the boy had 
the steers so that they were (|uite res])ectal)le. They 
would turn and twist according to his directions almost 
any way, and he could make them snake the clumsy 



124 



The Farmer's Boy 



old cart he hitched them into over any sort of country 
he pleased. He trained them so they would trot quite 
well, too. All together, he was proud of them, and be- 
lieved they would beat any other steers in the county 
clean out of sight. He was going to take them to the 
cattle-show some time and see if thev would not. 




Out with the stars 

Cattle-show camr in the autumn, usual!}' about ihc lime 
of the lirst frosts. There was some early rising among 
tlu' farmers on the morning of the great dav, for tliey 
must get tlieir llocks and herds under wav promptly 
or they would he late. Every kind of farm creature 
had its ])lace on llie grounds; and in \hv big hall were 
displayi-d (juanlities of fruits and \-egelables llial were 
the biggest and best ever seen, and sam])k's of cooking 




Ipplc juice 



Aiirunm 125 

and sam])los of sc\vin<^, and a l)i'(l(|uill an old lady made 
afu-r she was ninrt\- \i'ars old, dial had ahoul a million 
jML'CL'S in it ; and another one made b\ Ann Maria Tolkins 
who was only len years old, and dial had ahoul nine 
hundred thousand j)ieces in it ; and a pieture in oils \h\> 
same Ann Maria Tolkins had painted: and some other 
paint inL!;s, and lots of fane\- things, and all sorts of re- 
markaljle work that women and j^irls eould do and a 
boy wasn't good for an\thing at. However, the bov 
admired all this handicraft, and he was astonished at 
the big s<|uash that grew in one sumnuT and weighed 
twice as much as he did. He sur\-e}t'd the fruits with 
watery mouth, and exclaimed when he got to the potatoes, 
any one of which would almost fill a (|uarl measure, 
"Jiminy! wouldn't those be the fellers to pick u]), 
though ? " 

" 1 don't think you use ver\- nice laiiguage." >aid the 
bo}''s older sistc-r, who was nearl\ through the high school. 

"Well, you don't know much al)out ])icking up pota- 
toes," was his retort. 

There were more chances to spend money on the 
cattle-show grounds than you could "shake a stick at." 
All sorts of men were walking around through the crowd 
with popcorn and candies, and gay little balloons and 
whistles and such things to sell, and there were ])ooihs 
where you could see how much \c)u could ]>ound, and 



126 



The Farmer's Boy 



how much you could hft, and how straight you could 
throw a ball at a "nigger's" head stuck through a sheet 
of canvas fastened to posts two rods away. There were 
shooting galleries, and there was a phonograph, where 
you tucked some little tubes into your ears and could 
hear the famous baritone, Augustus William de ]\Ionk, 
sing the latest songs, and the exj)erience was so funny 
you could not helj) laughing. Of course, the boy could 
not invest in all the things he saw at the fair; he had 
to stop when his pocket-money was exhausted. But 
there was lots of free fun, such as the chance to roam 




Tlic crowd at caldcslunv 



Auriimn 



1^7 



around and look on at e■\•c•r^"thin,<,^ and hv had (|uanlilics 
of liandbills and l)n\ii;hlly colored cards and pamphk-ts 
thrust on him, all of which he faithfully stowed away 
in his j:;radually bult^inu; pockets and took home to con- 
sider at leisure. For a number of davs afterward he 
made melod}' wherever he went with h\> whistles and 
jcw's-harps at'd other noise-makers jjurchased at the 
fair ; but these things were soon broken, and the i)amphlets 
and circulars he gathered got scattered, and the cattle- 
show may be said to have been brought to an end bv 
his finding, two Sundays later, a lone j)eanut in his jacket 
pocket. He was in church at the time, and he was at 
great j)ains to crack llu' peanut (|uietly, so that he could 
eat it at once. He succeeded, though he had to assume 
great innocence and a remarkably steadfast interest in 
the preacher when his mother glanced his way suspi- 
ciously as she heard llie shuck crush. 

Autumn was a season of har\-est. Tin- ])otato held 
had hrst attention. When the boy's father was oiluT- 
wise busied, he had to go out alone and do digging and 
all, unless he could persuade his smaller brothers and 
sisters to bring along their little express wagon and assist. 
In such a case he spent about half his time showing 
them how, and offering inducements to keej) them at 
work. Usually it was the men folks who dug, and the box- 
had to do most of the jiii king u]). After he had handled 



128 



The Farmer's Boy 



about five l)ushels of the (hrty things, he thought he had 
done enough; but he eould not desert. It was one of 
the great virtues of farm hfe that the l)oy must learn to 
do disagreeable tasks, and to stiek to them to the finish, 
however irksome they were. This gave the right kind 




Pariuii apples 
of bov a decided advantage in the battles of life that 
came later, whatever Ids field of industry. He had 
acciuired courage to undiTtake and ])crsisteniv to carry 
out plans thai l)<)ys of milder experience would never 
dare to cope with. 

Potato fields that liad been neglirted in the drive 
of other work in their ripening weeks, llourisiied often 



Autumn 1 2Q 

at digging time witli many wrcdy jungli'S. This made 
digging slow, but llu' cconomiial small farmiT saw some 
gain in the fact, for he could feed the wreds to the pigs. 
Afkr thr niiil(la\- digging, whiK' tin- l)o\-"s falluT was 
carrying the bags of potatoes down cellar, the bov wheeled 
in a few loads of the weeds. 'I'he |tigs were verv glad 
to come wallowing uj) from die barnyard mire to ilu' 
bars where the bo\' llinw the wirds over. TheA' grunted 
and crunched wiUi great satisfaction. W'hrn the bo\- 
brought in the last load, he had a little conxersation with 
the pig>. and he scratclud ihe fattest one's back with 
a j)iece of board, until the stout jjorker lav down on 
its side and curled uj) the corners of its mouth and grunted 
as if in the M'\cndi heaxcn of bliss. 

A little later in dir fall tlu' onion^ had to be lo])ped, 
the beets ])ulled, the carrots s])ade(l out, and the corn 
cut. Work al the corn, in one sha])e or another, hung 
on until >now llew. The men did mosl of \hv cutting 
and binding, though the bo\' often assisli'd; but what 
he was sure to do was to drop tlu' straw and to hand 
U]) the bundles wlu'U the}' whtc reach' for stacking, aiid 
galluT tin- >calli-ri'd ])um|)kins and piil diciu under ihr 
stacks to ])rolecl tluni from the frost. \\v liked to plav 
that these stacks were Indian tents, and lu' would i rowd 
himself in among duir slanting stalks till he was out 
of sight. He picked out two good-sized green ])umpkins 



130 



The Farmer's Boy 




Bringing in a Pumpkin 

thai ni,ti;hl from amon.u; those they had l)rought home 
to feed to llie cows, and hollowed them out and cut awhd 
faces on thini for Jaeko" lanterns. IK' fixed with con- 
siderable troubU' a place in the bottom for a candle, 



A 



uninin 



I ii 



and got the younj^er children to come out on tin- slc'j)S 
while he lighted uj). They were filled with delight 
and fear 1)\' the ghostl)- heads with their strangely glow- 
ing features and their grinning, saw-toothed mouths. 
The 1)()\' went running around ihe xard wilh llicm, and 
put them on fence posts and carried them u\) a ladder, 
and cut up all sorts of antics with tiiem. i-'inall}', the 
younger children were called in, and the hox got lone 
some and blew out his candles, and stowed the Jack- 
o'-lanterns away for another occasion. 

On davs following there was much corn husking in 
the fields, at which the boy assisted, though the break- 




Tlic boy helps Intsk 



iji The Farmer's Boy 

ing off of the tough cobs was often no easy matter, and 
it made his wrists and lingers ache. Toward sundown 
the farmer frecjuently brought home a load to husk in 
the evening, or for employment on the morrow, should 
the day chance to be rainy. During the autumn it was 
quite common to do an hour or two's work in the barn 
of an evening, though the boy did not fancy the arrange- 
ment much, and begged off when he could think of a 
good excuse. 

In October the apples had to be ])icked. The pickers 
went to the orcliard armed with baskets, ropes, and 
ladders, and the wagon brought out a load of barrels 
and scattered them among the trees. It looked dan- 
gerous the way the boy would worm about among the 
branches and ])ursue the apples out to llie lips of the 
smallest limbs. He never fell, thougli he many times 
came near doing so. The way he hung on seemed to 
confirm llie Irulli of the tlieor\' tiial he was descended 
from monkey ancestors. But llie bo}' was on the ground 
much of the time, em])tying llie baskets tlu' nn'U let down 
into the barrels and picking u]) the l)e>l of the wind- 
falls, and gathering the rest of the appk'S on the ground 
into iiea])s for cider. 

It was a treat to take the ci(KT a])i)K's lo milk There 
was sure to be something going on in ilu' mill \icinit\- 
alwavs other teams and other l)()\s, and llure were Lrri'al 



Autumn 



^33 



bins of wailing ap])les and creaking machinery, and an 
atmos])lu'rc full oi cidcry odors. The l)o^• !osi no time 
in hunlini; up a ^ood >lraw and fiudinL:; a ne\sl_\- filled 
barri'l with the hunij; out. lie (.■slablished ])roni])l eon- 
niHiions with die eider ])y means of the straw, and loaded 




A/l(hit 
himself u]) with sweetness. WhiTi he had drunk enough, 
and had wijjed his mouth with his slee\e, he ri'marked 
that 1k' guessed he had lowered that eider some. .\ftiT 
the\' brought their own ( idrr home and i)ro|>]>rd up 
the barrel in llu- \ard b\- liu' sho]). the boy kept a bunch 
of straws conveniently stored, and as long as iii- called 
the cider sweel he frequently drew on the barrels' con- 



134 The Farmer's Boy 

tents. When the cider grew hard he took to visiting 
the apple bins more frequently, and, if you noticed him 
closely, you would nearly always see tlial lie had bunches 
in his pockets that showed he was well provided with 
these food stores. 

The great day of the fall for the bo}' was that on which 
he and several of the other fellows went chestnutting. 
Thev had b^en planning the expedition and talking it 
over for a week beforehand. The sun had not been 
long up when they started off across the frosty cjuiet 
of the ]jastures. Some had tin ])ails, some had bags, 
some had both. One boy's ho])es soared so higli that 
he carried tliree bags willi a ca])acity of a half busliel 
each. Most of them had salt bags that would contain 
two or three (juarts. Two of the lads carriefl clubs to 
knock off the chestnuts that still clung in the burs. They 
were all in eager chatter as lliey tram])e(l and ski])ped 
and climbed the fences and rolled stones down the hill- 
side and whirled their ])ails about their heads, and waiti'd 
for the smalk'st bo\', who was getting left behind, to 
cat(h u]), and did all those other things that boxs do 
wluii the\' are olT that wav. How thev raced to be hrst 
when the\' neared the chestnut trees I 'i'lieix' was a scat- 
tering, and a shouting o\er linds, and a rustling among 
'he fallen lea\cs. The nuts weri' not so luimerous that 
it t(X)k them loni^ to clear the t/round. Tlun llu\- threw 



Aiiruinn 135 

tlu'ir clubs, l)ul ihr linih- witl- too high for their strcnj^nh 
to hv vlivci'ww and ihry soon gaw tlial up and wrnt 
on to find more trees. Tlie chestnuts rattled on the bot- 
toms of their tin ])ails, and the l>()\s with baf^s twisted 
them u]) and exhibited to each other the knob of ntits 
within. 

As ihe sun rose hij^dier the ^rass became wet with 
melted frost, and the wind be<^an to blow in dashing 
little breezes that kv\)[ increasing in force till the whole 
wood was set to singing and lluttering. The bovs en- 
joyed the briskness of the- gale, and agreed, besides, 
that it would bring down the chestnuts. 'Yhv\ wandtTed 
on ()\er knolls and through hollows, sometimes in the 
])rown ])astures, sometimes in the ragged, autumn forest 
patches. They clubbed and climbed and i)icked, and 
bruised their shins, and got chestnut-bur j)rickles into 
their lingers, and they s([uabbled some among them- 
selves, and the smallest boy tumbled and had the nose- 
bh'rd and >lu-d tears, and il took the whoK- compan\' 
to comfort him. ( )n the whole, though, the\' got on 
very well. 

Presently the biggest boy, who had a watch, told 
them il was twelve o'clock, and tlu\- slopped on the 
sunny side of a pine grove, where there was a brook 
that >lippe(l down o\er some rocks ni'ar b\ , and ale 
their dinner. The bree/e was swaying tin- ]iine t()])s, in 



136 The Farmer's Boy 

a weird sighing melody, and now and then a tiny whirl- 
wind caught up the leaves beyond the brook and dashed 
them into a white-birch thicket. In the sheltered nook 
where the boys sat the wind barely touched them, and 
they ate, and drank from the brook, and lounged about 
afterward in great comfort. Later, they followed the 
little stream down a rough ravine, and the afternoon 
experiences were much the same as those of the morn- 
ing. They saw two gray scjuirrels, they heard a hound 
baying on the mountain, and there was a gun fired off 
somewhere in the woods. They found a crow's nest, 
only it was so high in a tree that they could not get it, 
and they jjicked up many pretty stones by the side of 
the brook and put tlu-m in with their chestnuts. They 
stojj])ed under one tree tliat was in sight of an orchard 
wliere a man was ])icking a])ples. The man hallooed 
to them to "get out of lliert' I" and after a lillle hesitation 
— for the spot was a i)romising one -the}' straggled 
off into the woods again. 

While they tra\(,'lle(l thev did a good deal of desuilory 
eating. Thi'\- madi' \\a\- with an occasional chestnut, and 
they found birth and mountain mint, and dug some sas- 
safras root, whiih they ale after getting mo>l of tlie dirt off. 
The biggest box's name was Va\ Cook, and he would eat 
almost anything. He would eal acorns, whiih tlu' rest 
found too biltiT, and he would chew ])ine and lu'ndock 



A 



iinimn 



^.7 



needles and sweet-fern leaves, and all such things. He 
took liis knife, as they were crossing a j)asture, and cut a 
plug of bark from a i)ine tree and scra])ed out the ])iteh 
and juiie next lo the wood, and said it was swecl. The 
others tried it, and it was sweet, though they did not care 
much for it. 

In the late afternoon the scjuad of boys came out on 
a precipice of rocks that o\erhung a pond. 'i"hc wind 




i)iit jtir a Iriunp 

had gone down and the sun was getting low, and it >ecmed 
best that they should start homeward. They were back 
among the scattered houses of ihe viUage just as the 
evening had begun to get duskx and fro>t\-. The smallest 



■38 



The Farmer's Boy 



boy had more than a i)inl of chestnuts, and the biggest 
boy had as many as three quarts, not counting stones 
and other rubbish. The day had been a great success, 
but they felt as if they had trudged a thousanrl miles, 




Laic lo supper 

and were almost too tired to cat su])])er. However, 
when the boy began lo tell liis ad\'entures, and set forth 
in glowing terms liis lrium|)]is and trials, and li>led 
the wonderful things lie had >een, Ids >|)irils re\i\ed, 
and in the e\"ening he was able to sui)erinten(l the boil- 
ing of a cu]) of llie chestnuts he had gathered, and to 
do his share of \\\v i^ating. 

When the cheslnul burs opened, aulumn \\a> at its 



Aiirunin 1 39 

height. Xow il ])e'gan to decline. K\ery breeze set 
loose relays of the gaudy lea\es and sent iheni llutter- 
ing to the earth in a many tinted shower, and the bare 
twigs and the increasing sharpness of the morning frosts 
warned the farm dwellers that winter was fast approach- 
in<£. 



V 



COUNTRY CHILDREN IN GENERAL 

IN this final chapter I propose to gather up some of 
the loose threads of my narrative that for one rea- 
son or another have missed attention in the earher 
cliai)ters. In particular, I wish to tell something of the 
farmer's girls. The average boy had a somcwlial scornful 
ojjinion of them, un- 
til he arri\ed at the 
age of sixteen or sev- 
enteen. Then their 
importance became 
quite superlative, if 
one could judge from 
the amount of atten- 
tion he gave them. 

The small girl's 
likes and di>likes, her 
enthusiasms and 
pleasures, were lo a large degree idenlical wilh llie bov's. 
She could beal liiiu half llie lime in ihe race> thai lhe\- 
ran. If >he had rubber b()ol>, she was just a-> good a 




/////(■ lioiisckccptr 



140 



CoiintrA' Children in Cjciu-ral 



141 



wader. She could j)lay halKilinih tVntfs, slide down liill, 
skate — indeed, do almost anxlhinii; the bov could, with 






'if 


•St- - 


v^ktVUvVIk 


i; 


s 



A game oj croqui't 

just the same interest and enjoyment. The girl was often 
a leader in roaming and adventure, and some girls made 
excellent outdoor workers, too. A lively and capable girl 
often wished that she was a boy, so that she might ha\c 
the boy's outdoor frt'edom ; and sometimes, too, she 
en\ied his opporiunitx' to (•()])(.■ with xigorous work and win 
a name and ])\:uc in ihc world. At any rate, shr longed 
to sli]) awa\- from the conl'ining hou>ew()rk and more sober 
demeanor whit h she was expected to ha\e. 

On farms where boys were lacking, the girls sometimes, 
of necessitN', did the bovs' work. TheN' dro\i' tlic cows 



142 The Farmer's Boy 

to pasture, helped in hoeing and weeding, loaded the hay, 
and picked iij) ])Otatocs. But usually they only h()\ered 
around the edges of the outdoor work. They took care 
of a comer in the garden and a strip of t^ower-bed, fed the 
chickens, went on errands, and helped pick apples. The 
smallest girls, unless their folks were uncommonly particu- 
lar, ran around \ery much as they pleased, and dipped into 
as many different kinds of work as they chose, and they 
got just as smutty and dirty as any of the boys. When 
the girls were old enough to don long dresses, they became 
more and more particular as to what they were seen doing 
about the fields, and they avoided anything but the light- 
est muscular exertion, and not all of them e\-en dared to 
make a spectacle of themselves by riding around on the 
horse-rake and tedder. 

The girl was early taught to wash and wipe the dishes, 
to swec]), to mend rents and sew on Inittons. Tlie boy 
had to acknowledge that in these things his sister beat him. 
She could do every one of them (juicker and l)etter tlian 
iiccouid, though he claimed that tiie l)Uttons she sewed on 
would come off, and that, gi\'e him time enough, he could 
sew a l)Utton on so he could depend oil that button's 
slaying where it was ])Ut to his last da}s. It was I'ertain, 
too, tiiat the girl was apt to be (piicker with her mind than 
the l)o\-. She h;id Iut K'ssons moi'i' |)erft'ct in >(h()ol, and 
she was more d()( ile in her bi-ha\ior. ( )ften she was the 



C()inur\' Cliildrc-n in (itiu-ral 



143 



boy's hclj)c'r and athiscr in all sorts of (lillkulliL's and 
troubles. W'l' all cra\c a sympathetic underslanding and 
interest in our doings. It is the mothers and sisters who 
are most likely to respond in such ways, and it was to them 
that the boy went most freely with his woes and |)leasures. 




,1 (//(;/ Willi i^riimlpa 

They were far safer confidants than the rest of ihi' woiid, 
and the boy was likely to ha\e reason for sorrow in later 
life because he did not follow their wishes and ad\ice 
more closely. 

All kind> of boxs were to l)e found on our Xew Kngland 
farms — good and bad, handsome and homeK', l)righl and 



144 The Farmer's Boy 

dull, strong and weak, courageous and timid, generous 
and mean. I think the better qualities predominated. The 
typical boy was a sturdy, wholesome-looking little fellow, 
with chubby cheeks that were well tanned and freckled in 
summer, and that in the winter took a rosy glow from the 
keenness of the air. The same was more mildly true of 
the appearance of the little girls, and with some advantage^ 
in their fa\"or. You take a group of country girls some 
June morning, on their way to school, with their fresh 
faces and clean, starched aprons — they looked, as Arte- 
mus Ward has said, "nice enough to eat without sass or 
season in'." 

As the children grew u]) they were ai)t to lose much 
of their simplicity and attraction. They became self-con- 
scious and in many ways artificial, particularly in their 
manner and in their pleasures. This artilkiality was 
not especially apparent in their work, and there were 
those who continued to a large degree refreshingly earnest 
and natural in whate\er llii'\' did; and (ounlrv life all 
througli, willi its general hal)ils of laljoi- and economx- and 
its comjjarative seclusion, was less artificial llian that of 
the cities, ^'el there were the same tendencies 'n l)otli 
places. The girl became increasingl}' anxious aljoul the 
mode of her dress — she wanted to ha\e all the latest 
j)uckers of the world of fashion. Shi' twisted and cut off 
and curled and fri/./i'd hc^r hair, and she braided it and 




^liidyuii; Ins ^unday-siiiool icaon 



C()iintr\- CliiKlnn in (iciKr:il 145 

rolled it and m:u\v il >land on ^'n^} in Ikt clTorl to lind the 
adiuslmenl most becoming to her style of beauty. The re- 
sull sometimes was that she had the api)earanee of having 
t^onc crazy. She wore tooilipick-loed, highdieeled shoes, 
and declared imljlicly that they couldn't be more com- 
fortable, while ])rivately she complained of corns. For 
society use she cultivated a cultured tone of voice and some 
tosses of the head, rolling up of the eyeballs, shrugging 
of the shoulders, etc., calculated to be "killing." She had 
an idea that it was becoming in her to appear to take fright 
easily, and she screeched at sudden noises, and was in a 
panic at the ai)i)earance of the most scared and tmy of 
mice. 

A good deal of this sort of i)erforming was done for its 
effect on the bovs. It seemed to interest and entertain 
them, and keep them lianging around. The girls senti- 
mentalized a good deal about the boys when they got into 
their teens. Tliev ke])t track of who was going with who, 
and, in tliiir >liallow way, picked his looks and tliaracter- 
istics all to ravellings. What a fellow >ai<l, how he curled 
his mustache, how he parted hi^ hair, how horridly or 
how well he danced, how late it was when lie got home from 
the last j)artv, etc., were discussed at all kinds of times and 
places. Two girls wlio had comv lionu' from meeting 
together some cold autumn night would loiter and treeze 
to death at the gate wlu're tlu'y wrw to pari, talking for 



146 



The Farmer's Boy 







r^r 







\i^^.:j^jb '■i»wv. 



W ci-ding the posy bed 

an liour or more o\er the "fellows" aflcr this manner. 
The rc'sull was that iheir minds came into a state where 
subjects without a gossipy or sentimental turn had no 
interest. 

As a rule, the boys fell into the girls' ways, and, noting 
how the current ran, encouraged this line of conduct. 
There was among the young ])eo])le a good deal ot llina- 
tion — a kind of aimless play both of talk and manner 
that hung around the borders of the sentimental, and often 
got a good wav beyond it. The l)o\' who avoided this 
sort of thing was said to be ba>hful, and afiaid of the girls. 



C()unrr\- ChiKlnii in (itnc-ral 147 

That mijjjht he a sutrKii-nt cxj)lanalion in some cases, but 
in others the troul)le was not a (h'slike of i^irls, hut some 
douhts as to this kind of i^irls. 

Most boys were not as senlinHnlal as were most i^irls. 
The boys were more worka(hi\- and ])ractical. Their 
hfe, in the matter of <^ettin_ij;a li\in_<j;, had more responsibih'tN 
tlian tile ,uirls\ At the same time, the boy often jrained 
a coarseness of thoui^ht and feeh'nj^ in his comj)anionshi]) 
with ilie men and bo_\> with whom lie was thrown that 
the girl was ahnost aho<i;ether free from. 

It was a curious idea of manhiie>s some of the bo\s IkkK 
Tlie\ tiied to e.\])ress a u;rown-u]) com])etence to take care 
of tliem>el\es b)" a rougli manner and rude sj)eech, and 
abiht\' to I'nter into \hv s])irit of the worst kind of conxer- 
salion and stories, not only without a ijlush, but with s}'nv 
pathetic gutTaws of laughter. They resented their ])arents' 
authorit\'; the\' liked to resort to the loaling ])laces when 
they had leisure. They asjiired to smoke and cliew and 
S])it, like the rest of the loafers there. Tliis may be an 
extreme j)icture, but there were a \ast number of boys it 
would fit to a degree. Most country boys admired the 
gentilitx' of smoking, and would be at great pains to ac- 
(|uire the habit after they got to be fifteen or sixteen _\ears 
old. I\r]iap> the average l)oy ne\er became a fre(|uent 
smoker, but when he started off for a ride, he liked the 
pleasurable feeling of inde])en(kn( e it ga\e him, to ha\c 



148 



The Farmer's Boy 



a cigar tilted neatly upward from the corner of his mouth. 
This stamped him a gentleman to all beholders, and the 
lookers-on were convinced from his manner and cicrar that 




Ajtrrnooii 011 the jroiit porch 

he was a ])ers()n of xigorous and stoulK- held opinions 

willi whi( h it would 1)C' \)v>\ not to altrmpi ;in\' fooling. 

W'iicn you saw a young man gayl}- riding by, sitting up 

ver}- straight, willi hi^ best (lothcs on and his fnc-cent 



C()iinrr\' Childrtn in (H-nt-ral 149 

cigar scenting llir air with its gi-ntlr aroma, you migln know 
he was going to lake his girl to ride-. If iu- could b\- any 
manner of means hnd the mont'y at this timr of his carfrr, 
the young man bought a fa>t horse and a shin_\- to]) 
bugg\'. He fairlv dazzled tlu' beholders' eyes as he 
llitli'd swiftb" ])a>l. Somrtimes it took more tlian onr liorse 
to rini>h his courting, for tlu- lirsl one might die of old age 
before he got through. HiU whatever disappointments 
the young man suffered in his lo\e alTairs, and however 
his fancy or chance made him thange one girl for anotlier, 
you could not see, when he started on his journeys, that 
hi- had e\er lost aught of that tirst freslmess of denu-anor 
wliich cliaracteri/ed him, and the ]ierfume of his ligar had 
the same old l"i\e-cent fragrance. 

.After all, those young fellows who went skirmi>liing 
around in this fashion were mostly hearty and good- 
natured. When sui'h a one married, his horse went slower, 
the polisli wore off from Ids cari'iage, he neglected his cigar, 
and he and his wil"e settled down, as a rule, into a \ery 
staid and comfoHable sort of folks. They might ha\c 
been wi>er, the}' might ha\e gotten more from life; so 
could we- all of us. 

Shakespere >a\-s that "All the world lows a lo\er," 
and people are fond of rej)ealing this sa\ing; but Shake- 
spere wrote three- hundrc-d \'ears ago. I am \ery sure 
that New England lu-opk- do not lo\e a lo\-er. He is a 



150 The Farmer's Boy 

butt for more poor jokes than any other character. The 
people our boy knew thought the lo\er was ridiculous. 
They called him off and set liim on, and scared him and 
encouraged him, and mixed him uj) generally. They at 
least made that other saying come true — "Faint heart 
ne'er won fair lady." As for the girl concerned, she got 
among her friends a rather gentler and more coddling 
treatment. 

Even the smallest children in some families had to en- 
dure a lot of talk from their elders about their "girls" 
and "fellows" that was the most sickly sort of sentimen- 
tality. If let alone, the cliildrcn's minds did not run much 
on these lines, though they occasional!}', in tlieir innocent 
wa\', built some \ery pretty castles in tlie air, that soon 
melted awa}' harmlessly into nothing in the warmth of 
their other interests. 

Boys, when they began to go to the larger schools of 
a town, were a])t to learn a \ariety of rough tricks, exclama- 
tions, and slang that sliocked the folks at liome when tluv 
got to showing off within iheii" elders' siglu and hear- 
ing. With ihe best of the bo\s ihis i-oughness presently 
woi'e off. ( )duTs cuhi\aled iheii" acc()m])lishments, and 
e\en UKuk' iheii- con\ I'rsalion eni])hatit- with certain of 
the swear words. Such boys were condemned by llie 
righteous of the communily as allogelhc'r bad, and \i't 
it sonuiinu's hai)i)ene(l that e\en llie\- had redeeminii: 



C()untr\' ChiKlrt-n in ( Icmral 



151 



trails. I do nol think lyinj^; was a loniinon fault of 
ihi' countr\- bovs, thouu;!'! most of thcni found iliLnisi-lvcs 
at linu's in ciivumslanccs wliiili made il dirik-ull to abstain 
from gi\ing llic truth a ])rt.'tty >c'\crc straining; and per- 
haps most had two or tiuxr lies on their (■onseience> thai 
were undoul)tedl\' blaek. l>ul the boy ])robably repented 
these in shame and sorrow, and hoped he newr would 
be tempted again to tell one of the untruths he so (les])ised. 
Reall}' bad and unblushing l}ing a bo\- was apt to learn, 
if e\er, after he got among the older and rougher boxs 
who hung around the ])Ost-ortK-e every exening at mail- 
time, or who attended the centre schools of the town. 




Kill Inn work 



152 The Farmer's Boy 

The farm, more than most places, tends to give children 
habits of thrift and singleness of purpose in the pursuit 
of education. There is seclusion enough on the majority 
of farms, so that the children are not confused b\- a mul- 
tiplicity of amusements and too much going on. This 
seclusion may make some dull, Ijut to others it gives a 
concentrated energy that results in tlieir being all through 
life untiring workers and stout thinkers. Often from such 
a start they Ijecome the world's leaders in many widely 
scattered fields of usefulness. Because you are a farm-boy, 
it is not, however, certain that you have only to seek the 
city to win fame and fortune. The city is already crowded 
with workers and with ability. It is a lonely, homesick 
place, and man}- years must pass before a ])crson can win 
even a jxjsition of safety and comfort. The l)()ys with 
good habits and health and a strong will lia\e the best 
chance. Tlie boy with loose habits and lack of energy 
finds more tem])tations to a weak and purposeless career 
than in the country. Some boys and girls can li\e li\es 
of wider usefulness in the large towns tlian in the coun- 
lr\-, and it is bc-st for llu'in to go tluMX", but it is a serious 
question for mo^l whrlhe'i' thc\- will gain anxthing l)y llie 
change. 

It was m\- ])lan, in thi> book, to take the farmci'V l)ov 
straight througli tin' war. ThriTNtill rcmain>a final moniii 
that has not bi'cn treated. With 'l"hanksgi\'ing autunm 



Countr}' Chililrtn in General 



153 



ended and winter began. The trees had been bare for some 
time, the grasses withered brown, and the landscape was 




Encouraging the Tluuiksgiving turkey 

white with frost every morning. There had l^een high winds 
whistling about the farm buildings and S(urr\ing through 
the leaf litter of the fields. Snow s(|ualls had whitened the 
air, and the roadway pools had frequently been glazed 
with ice. Bui the solid freezing and snows of winter were 
not looked for until after Thanksgiving. The boy got 
out his old mittens, and his cloth ca]) that he tould pull 
down o\er his ears, and he kept his coal collar turned U]), 
and hugged himself and drevv- his body into a narrower 
compass as he did his outdoor work. ( )n some cold 
morning he brought forth his sled, and if he found a bank 



154 



The Farmer's Boy 



steep enough he shcl down on the frost very well. He 
tried such ice as was handy, and of course broke through 
and got his feet muddy. 

Then real winter came, and the world was all white, 
and sleighbells jingled along the road, and the ponds and 
rivers were bridged with solid ice. The boy, with some 



*Qti„. 




Going lip for a slide 

Other boys, and jjerhaps some of the girls, too, was often 
out with his sled. They did a good deal of sliding do^^^l 
the steepest kind of liills — indeed, that was the sort they 
searched out ; and if a hill had a few liwly humps in il, 
so much the l)elter. They dashed down tlu' deiline in 
the most reckless fashion; and tiien ke])t going up a little 
higher to make the descent still faster and moi-e e\i iting. 
One little fellow, who lav flat on his sled and >teered with 



0)unrr\' Children in Cicncral 



35 



his toes, got slewed out of the irat k and went roHinjf owr 
and over with his sled in a iloud of llyins^ snow. You 
would think it would Ix- the end of him. He got up 
da/.cd, and j)ow(iered white from head to foot, and his 
lij) quivered, and some tears trickled from his eyes. In 
a shaky voice he said that he was going home. The other 
boys gathered rountl and brushed him off, and Willie 
Hooper lent him his handkerchief, when the boy couldn't 
find his o\\'n ; and they told him how he looked going over 




A sU'iI ride for the Utile sister 

and over, and what he ought to have done; and that he 
was all right, and to "come on, now; there ain'l no use 
of goin' indoors just for that ; we'll ha\e a lot of fun yet." 



156 The Farmer's Boy 

The boy at length was comforted, and in a few minutes 
he was careering do\\Ti the hill with the others, as lively 
as ever. 

By the time a lad got to be six or seven years old he 
expected to tind a pair of skates in his Christmas stocking. 
For some time after that his head accumulated bumps of 
a kind that would be apt to puzzle a phrenologist. It 
was astonishing in what a sudden and unexpected manner 
the skates would slip from under him ! There was not 
even a chance for him to throw out his hands to save 
himself. He was in luck if he could manage to sit doAATi 
instead of going full length. His ankles wobbled unac- 
countably, and the moment he left off mincing along in 
a sort of awkward, short-stepped walk and tried to 
strike out, down he went. Resides, his skate-stra])S 
were always loosening, or getting under his skates and 
tripping him up, and his feet became cold and his mitlens 
got wet. But the boy kept at it willi a perseverance under 
dirficuhv and disaster that would ha\-e acc()m])lislie(l won- 
ders if applied to work. In lime he could skim around 
with anv of them, and play shinny and skate backward 
and in a circle, and cut a figure S in the ice, and almost 
do a number of other remarkable things. 

The bov who skated much had to e.\peri(.'nce a few break- 
ings through the ice. On the little ponds and near the 
shore this wan oftin fun, and tin- bo\ who dared go ne'arest 



C<)unrr\' Childnn in Gtn(.r:il 



1 57 




The experts 

to the weak places and slid longest on a bender was a hero 
in his mates' estimation, and, T might add, in his own. 
\Mien he did breai< in he \cx\ likely got only his krl wet, 
and he did not mind that very much; but whrn hr broke 
through in some dee]) ])lacc', and did not grip tlu- ici- until 
he was in up to his arms, it was no smiling matlrr. He 
usually scrambled out quickly enough, but the worst of 
it came in getting home in his freezing clothing, that con- 
ducted the chill of the frosty air clear to his bones. Vet 
it rarely happened that an\lhing serious resulted from 
these accidents. 

The Year went (jut with Christmas, the holiday that 



158 The Farmer's Boy 

perhaps shone brightest of all the list in the bov's mind. 
A few days before its advent he and his folks visited the 
town, where all the stores were, to buy presents. They 
did much mysterious advising together, but never as a 
family group ; there always was at least one shut out. It 
took a great deal of consideration and calculation to make 
forty-nine cents go around among all your friends. But 
the members of the family were usually considerate, and 
when the boy fished for hints of their likes, they made it 
clear, in suggesting the thing they most wanted, that he 
would not have to spend such a great deal. Then, while 
he was in the store buying, the others who hap])encd lo 
be witli him were always good enough lo stand by the door 
and look the other way, so that, of course, their presents, 
when they received them, were a great surprise. 

Each of the children brought home various little pack- 
ages, which they were at great ])ains to liidc away from 
the olJKT members of the household, though lhe_\' could 
not forbear to talk about them darkl\-, and gel the 
others lo guess, until they were almost telling themselves. 
Some of them, particularly the girls, were apt to be " making 
things" about this time, and you had lo be careful how 
you noticed what was left lying around, or \()u (lisco\ered 
secrets, and there was likely to be a sudden hustling of 
things out of sight when you came into the room, and looks 
of such exaggerated innocence that you knew something 




c... ..<.,, 



/ ■' — '■.■> 



Countr\' Cliildren in Cicncial 1 5Q 

was going on. If vou showed an inclination to stoj), your 
sister said, "Frank, do go along!" 

"What for?" asked Frank. 

''Oh, you've been in the house long enough I" was the 
reply. 

"Well, I guess I want to gel warm," Frank continued. 
"It's pretty cold outdoors. Say, what is it you're sitting 
on, Nell, anyway?" 

"I didn't say I was sitting on anything," was Nellie's 
response. " You just go along out, or you sha'n't have it." 

Then Frank blew his nose and laughed, and pulled 
on his mittens and shuttled off. 

On Christmas eve the children hung u]) their stockings 
back of the stove, and were hopeful of presents, in spite 
of the disbelief they expressed in the possibility that Santa 
Claus could come down the stovepipe. Sure enough, in 
the morning the stockings were all bunchy with the things 
in them, and the children had a great celebration pulling 
them out and getting the wraps off the jmckages. They 
did all this without slopping to more than half dress, 
and breakfast had to wail for them. They were in no 
haste, for they had popcorn and landy thai they found 
in their stockings to munch on, and e\'er}- om- had to >how 
all his things to each of llie rest, and see all the others 
had, and spring the baby'> Jac k in-lhe-bo.\ about half a 
dozen times till ihev ml used to the fright of it. 



i6o 



The Farmer's Boy 



Thcv had better things to eat that day than usual, and 
more of them, and with the food and the sweetmeats and 
extras some of the children were nearly sick and wholly 
quarrelsome before the day was done. 




A Clirisliua.s puzzle 

In the e\ening there was, pcrha])s, a Cliristmas tree at 
the schoolhouse. There had been a turmoil of ])repara- 
tion in the neigh borliood for several fhn-s ])re\ious; for 
the children had to Ix' sul learning ])i(.'(.cs, and practising, 
and fixing u]) costumes; and cake and lookies and all the 
good things to eat had lo \)v made read}', and some one 
had to collect the dimes and niikels and (|uarters lo get 
(and\- and oranges and Christmas tree trimmings with. 



C(>iintr\' Chililixn in General i6l 

Then some two or three had to make a journey to the woods 
and chop a good branchy hemlock or s])ruce of the rit^ht 
size, and set it up in the corner of the schoolhouse. P'i- 
nally, the green curtains had to be hung to separate the 
audience from the stage, where the small people would 
do their acting and s])eak their ])ieces. 

The whole \illage turned out in tlie evening. They came 
on foot and the\' came in teams. Usually, each group 
carried a lantern to light its way, and the lanterns were 
left in the entry when their bearers went in. The school- 
house windows were aglow with light, and things within 
fairly glittered to the children's eyes. There were six lamps 
along the walls, in addition to those back of tlie curtains, 
and all the lamps were lighted and turned up nearly to 
the smoking point. Everybody was tliere, besides four 
boys from the next village, who sat on a front seat, and 
James Peterson's dog. Some of the big people got into 
some of tile small seats, and certain of the neighbors who 
didn't get along very well with certain others had to man- 
age carefully not to run across each other's courses. Chairs 
had been brought from the near homes and set in the aisles 
and wherever else there was s])ace for them at the back 
of the room. There were none too many, and the school- 
room was such a pocket of a place that by the time the 
last comers arrived e\en elbow-room was scarce. The 
air was full of the hum of talk, and the young people were 



1 62 The Farmer's Boy 

running all about the open space and in and out the door, 
and there were consultations and gigglings and Hurries 
over things forgotten or lost or something else, without 
number. 

The curtain was drawn, but you could see the top 
of the gavly loaded tree over it, and the movement of 
feet under it, and you could see queer shadows on it of 
figures doing mysterious things. Sometimes a figure 
brushed against the curtain, and it came bulging away 
out into the room, and the four boys from the next town 
had the greatest work to keep from exploding over tlie 
funniness of this; and, as it was, one of them tumbled 
off from the narrow scat he occu])ied. 

Bv and bv there was a ([uieting in the tlurry up in front, 
and some one stood before the curtain with a paper in 
his hand and announced that the first exercise of the even- 
ing would be thus-and-so. There was no astonishing 
genius shown in what followed, but a person would have 
to be verv d\'s])eptic not to enjoy the sim])licily and earnest- 
ness of it all. Each child had liis or lier indixidual way, 
and some of the participants were so small ihey could 
onlv pipe and lis]) the words, and you didn't know what 
the\' said; bui when thi'v madr their link' bows and hur- 
ried off to find ihrir niolluTs, \()u and \hv rest of the au- 
dience were delighted, and ap])lau(led just the same. 
There was a mdodcon at ont- sidi- of the room, and the 




C'lirislDiiis inoniitig 



Counrrv Children in (KMural 163 

school sang scve-ral songs, and one of the young ladies 
sang a solo all alone, and they had a dialogue with Santa 
Claus in it, who was so dressed up in a long beard and a 
fur coat and a deep voice that you wouldn't haw an}- 
idea it was only Hiram Taylor ! 

At length came the Christmas tree. How handsome it 
looked, with the numerous packages and bright things hung 
among its green twigs, and the strings of popcorn looped 
all about, and the oranges and candy bags dangling 
everywhere ! Three or four of the young jX'Ople took olf 
the presents and called out names, and kej)! everybody 
grovving hajjpier and ha])])ier. When the tree was bare, 
and even the po])corn and landy bags and oranges had 
been distributed, some of the women folks got lixelv in a 
corner where there was a table piled all over with baskets 
and boxes. Then })lates began to circulate, and it was 
found that there was a pot boiling on the stove and a 
smell of coffee in the air. About nineteen different 
kinds of cake started on tluir wanderings, and tlure 
were biscuits and nuts; and you had a chance to talk 
with everybody and show your ])resents, and altogether 
had so good a lime tliat you felt as if the ])leasure would 
last the whole year llirough. 

It would take many books to tell all there is to tell about 
the farmer's boy; and where can we better leave him than 
this Chri>tmas night, with the re>t of the family, snugged 



164 



The Farmer's Boy 



up among the robes of the sleigh, on the way home? 
The lantern on the dashboard flashes its light along the 
road ahead, the horses' hoofs strike crisply on the frozen 
snow, the bells jingle, and the sky overhead ghtters full 
of radiant stars. In the ghding sleigh are the children, 
holding their precious presents in their laps, and still in 
animated conversation reviewing the events of the evening. 
The sleigh moves on, they are lost to sight — the book is 
ended. 




A picture book 



SEP le 1907 




014 042 637 4 # 



M 



1 



